UCSB    LIBRARY 


Side-stepping 
with  Shorty 


By 

Sewell   Ford 

Illustrated  by 

Francis  Vaux  Wilson 


Santa  Barbara,  California 


SANTA  BARBARA,  CALIF. 


NEW  YORK 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP 
PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  zyo8,  by  Mitchell  Kennerkj 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  SHORTY  AND  THE  PLUTE 9 

II.  ROUNDING  UP  MAGGIE 25 

III.  UP  AGAINST  BENTLEY 42 

IV.  THE  TORTONIS'  STAR  ACT      ....  55 
V.  PUTTING  PINCKNEY  ON  THE  JOB      .     .  68 

VI.  THE  SOARING  OF  THE  SAGA  WAS       .     .  85 

VII.    RlNKEY   AND  THE   PHONY   LAMP        .       .  99 

VIII.  PINCKNEY  AND  THE  TWINS   .      .     .     .  115 

IX.  A  LINE  ON  PEACOCK  ALLEY       .     .     .  131 

X.  SHORTY  AND  THE  STRAY 147 

XI.  WHEN  ROSSITER  CUT  LOOSE       .      .     .  165 

XII.  Two  ROUNDS  WITH  SYLVIE    ....  179 

XIII.  GIVING  BOMBAZOULA  THE  HOOK      .     .  195 

XIV.  A  HUNCH  FOR  LANGDON 212 

XV.  SHORTY'S  Go  WITH  ART 228 

XVI.  WHY  WILBUR  DUCKED 245 

XVII.  WHEN  SWIFTY  WAS  GOING  SOME    .     .  262 

XVIII.  PLAYING  WILBUR  TO  SHOW  ....  278 

XIX.  AT  HOME  WITH  THE  DILLONS     .     .     .  294 

XX.  THE  CASE  OF  RUSTY  QUINN      „     .     .  310 


SHORTY  AND   THE   PLUTE 

NOTICE  any  gold  dust  on  my  back?  No?  Well  it's 
a  wonder  there  ain't,  for  I've  been  up  againt  the  money 
bags  so  close  I  expect  you  can  find  eagle  prints  all 
over  me. 

That's  what  it  is  to  build  up  a  rep.  Looks  like  all 
the  fat  wads  in  New  York  was  gettin'  to  know  about 
Shorty  McCabe,  and  how  I'm  a  sure  cure  for  every- 
thing that  ails  'em.  You  see,  I  no  sooner  take  hold 
of  one  down  and  outer,  sweat  the  high  livin'  out  of 
him,  and  fix  him  up  like  new  with  a  private  course 
of  rough  house  exercises,  than  he  passes  the  word 
along  to  another ;  and  so  it  goes. 

This  last  was  the  limit,  though.  One  day  I'm  called 
to  the  'phone  by  some  mealy  mouth  that  wants  to  know 
if  this  is  the  Physical  Culture  Studio. 

"  Sure  as  ever,"  says  I. 

"Well,"  says  he,  "I'm  secretary  to  Mr.  Fletcher 
Dawes." 

"  That's  nice,"  says  I.     "  How's  Fletch?  " 

"  Mr.  Dawes,"  says  he,  "  will  see  the  professah  at 
fawh  o'clock  this  awfternoon." 

9 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

"  Is  that  a  guess,"  says  I,  "  or  has  he  been  havin'  his 
fortune  told?" 

"  Who  is  this  ?  "  says  the  gent  at  the  other  end  of 
the  wire,  real  sharp  and  sassy. 

"  Only  me,"  says  I. 

"  Well,  who  are  you  ?  "  says  he. 

"  I'm  the  witness  for  the  defence,"  says  I.  "  I'm 
Professor  McCabe,  P.  C.  D.,  and  a  lot  more  that  I 
don't  use  on  week  days." 

"  Oh ! "  says  he,  simmerin'  down  a  bit.  "  This  is 
Professor  McCabe  himself,  is  it?  Well,  Mr.  Fletcher 
Dawes  requiahs  youah  services.  You  are  to  repawt 
at  his  apartments  at  fawh  o'clock  this  awfternoon — 
f awh  o'clock,  understand  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  says  I.  "  That's  as  plain  as  a  dropped 
egg  on  a  plate  of  hash.  But  say,  Buddy;  you  tell 
Mr.  Dawes  that  next  time  he  wants  me  just  to  pull 
the  string.  If  that  don't  work,  he  can  whistle;  and 
when  he  gets  tired  of  whistlin',  and  I  ain't  there,  he'll 
know  I  ain't  comin'.  Got  them  directions?  Well, 
think  hard,  and  maybe  you'll  figure  it  out  later.  Ta, 
ta,  Mister  Secretary."  With  that  I  hangs  up  the  re- 
ceiver and  winks  at  Swifty  Joe. 

"  Swifty,"  says  I,  "  they'll  be  usin'  us  for  rubber 
stamps  if  we  don't  look  out." 

"  Who  was  the  guy  ?  "  says  he. 

"  Some  pinhead  up  to  Fletcher  Dawes's,"  says  I. 

10 


SHORTY   AND   THE    PLUTE 

"  Hully  chee !  "  says  Swifty. 

Funny,  ain't  it,  how  most  everyone'll  prick  up  their 
ears  at  that  name  ?  And  it  don't  mean  so  much  money 
as  John  D.'s  or  Morgan's  does,  either.  But  what  them 
two  and  Harriman  don't  own  is  divided  up  among 
Fletcher  Dawes  and  a  few  others.  Maybe  it's  because 
Dawes  is  such  a  free  spender  that  he's  better  adver- 
tised. Anyway,  when  you  say  Fletcher  Dawes  you 
think  of  a  red-faced  gent  with  a  fistful  of  thousand- 
dollar  bills  offerin'  to  buy  the  White  House  for  a 
stable. 

But  say,  he  might  have  twice  as  much,  and  I 
wouldn't  hop  any  quicker.  I'm  only  livin'  once,  and 
it  may  be  long  or  short,  but  while  it  lasts  I  don't  in- 
tend to  do  the  lackey  act  for  anyone. 

Course,  I  thinks  the  jolt  I  gave  that  secretary  chap 
closes  the  incident.  But  around  three  o'clock  that 
same  day,  though,  I  looks  down  from  the  front  window 
and  sees  a  heavy  party  in  a  fur  lined  overcoat  bein' 
helped  out  of  a  shiny  benzine  wagon  by  a  pie  faced 
valet,  and  before  I'd  done  guessin'  where  they  was 
headed  for  they  shows  up  in  the  office  door. 

"  My  name  is  Dawes.  Fletcher  Dawes,"  says  the 
gent  in  the  overcoat. 

"  I  could  have  guessed  that,"  says  I.  "  You  look 
somethin'  like  the  pictures  they  print  of  you  in  the 
Sunday  papers." 

II 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

"  I'm  sorry  to  hear  it,"  says  he. 

But  say,  he's  less  of  a  prize  hog  than  you'd  think, 
come  to  get  near — forty-eight  around  the  waist,  I 
should  say,  and  about  a  number  sixteen  collar.  You 
wouldn't  pick  him  out  by  his  face  as  the  kind  of  a  man 
that  you'd  like  to  have  holdin'  a  mortgage  on  the  old 
homestead,  though,  nor  one  you'd  like  to  sit  opposite 
to  in  a  poker  game — eyes  about  a  quarter  of  an  inch 
apart,  lima  bean  ears  buttoned  down  close,  and  a 
mouth  like  a  crack  in  the  pavement. 

He  goes  right  at  tellin'  what  he  wants  and  when 
he  wants  it,  savin'  he's  a  little  out  of  condition  and 
thinks  a  few  weeks  of  my  trainin'  was  just  what  he 
needed.  Also  he  throws  out  that  I  might  come  up 
to  the  Brasstonia  and  begin  next  day. 

"  Yes  ?  "  says  I.  "  I  heard  somethin'  like  that  over 
the  'phone." 

"  From  Corson,  eh  ? "  says  he.  "  He's  an  ass ! 
Never  mind  him.  You'll  be  up  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  Say,"  says  I,  "  where'd  you  get  the  idea  I  went 
out  by  the  day  ?  "" 

"  Why,"  says  he,  "  it  seems  to  me  I  heard  something 
about <" 

"  Maybe  they  was  personal  friends  of  mine,"  says  I. ' 
"  That's  different.     Anybody  else  comes  here  to  see 
me." 

"  Ah ! "  says  he,  suckin'  in  his  breath  through  his 
12 


SHORTY   AND   THE    PLUTE 

teeth  and  levelin'  them  blued  steel  eyes  of  his  at  me. 
"  I  suppose  you  have  your  price  ?  " 

"  No,"  says  I ;  "  but  I'll  make  one,  just  special  for 
you.  It'll  be  ten  dollars  a  minute." 

Say,  what's  the  use?  We  saves  up  till  we  gets  a 
little  wad  of  twenties  about  as  thick  as  a  roll  of 
absorbent  cotton,  and  with  what  we  got  in  the  bank 
and  some  that's  lent  out,  we  feel  as  rich  as  platter 
gravy.  Then  we  bumps  up  against  a  really  truly 
plute,  and  gets  a  squint  at  his  dinner  check,  and  we 
feels  like  panhandlers  workin'  a  side  street.  Honest, 
with  my  little  ten  dollars  a  minute  gallery  play,  I 
thought  I  was  goin'  to  have  him  stunned. 

"  That's  satisfactory,"  says  he.  "  To-morrow,  at 
four." 

That's  all.  I'm  still  standin'  there  with  my  mouth 
open  when  he's  bein'  tucked  in  among  the  tiger  skins. 
And  I'm  bought  up  by  the  hour,  like  a  bloomin'  he 
massage  artist!  Feel?  I  felt  like  I'd  fit  loose  in  a 
gas  pipe. 

But  Swifty,  who's  had  his  ear  stretched  out  and  his 
eyes  bugged  all  the  time,  begins  to  do  the  walk  around 
and  look  me  over  as  if  I  was  a  new  wax  figger  in  a 
museum. 

"  Ten  plunks  a  minute !  "  says  he.     "  Hully  chee !  " 

"  Ah,  forget  it !  "  says  I.  "  D'ye  suppose  I  want 
to  be  reminded  that  I've  broke  into  the  bath  rubber 

13 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

class?  G'wan!  Next  time  you  see  me  prob'ly  I'll 
be  wearin'  a  leather  collar  and  a  tag.  Get  the  mitts 
on,  you  South  Brooklyn  bridge  rusher,  and  let  me 
show  you  how  I  can  hit  before  I  lose  my  nerve  alto- 
gether ! " 

Swifty  says  he  ain't  been  used  so  rough  since  the 
time  he  took  the  count  from  Cans ;  but  it  was  a  relief 
to  my  feelin's;  and  when  he  come  to  reckon  up  that 
I'd  handed  him  two  hundred  dollars'  worth  of  punches 
without  chargin'  him  a  red,  he  says  he'd  be  proud  to 
have  me  do  it  every  day. 

If  it  hadn't  been  that  I'd  chucked  the  bluff  my- 
self, I'd  scratched  the  Dawes  proposition.  But  I  ain't 
'no  hand  to  welch;  so  up  I  goes  next  afternoon,  with 
my  gym.  suit  in  a  bag,  and  gets  my  first  inside  view  of 
the  Brasstonia,  where  the  plute  hangs  out.  And  say, 
if  you  think  these  down  town  twenty-five-a-day  joints 
is  swell,  you  ought  to  get  some  Pittsburg  friend  to 
smuggle  you  into  one  of  these  up  town  apartment 
hotels  that's  run  exclusively  for  trust  presidents.  Why, 
they  don't  have  any  front  doors  at  all.  You're  ex- 
pected to  come  and  go  in  your  bubble,  but  the  rules  lets 
you  use  a  cab  between  certain  hours. 

I  tries  to  walk  in,  and  was  held  up  by  a  three  hun- 
dred pound  special  cop  in  grey  and  gold,  and  made  to 
prove  that  I  didn't  belong  in  the  baggage  elevator 
or  the  ash  hoist.  Then  I'm  shown  in  over  the  Turkish 

14 


SHORTY   AND   THE    PLUTE 

rugs  to  a  solid  gold  passenger  lift,  set  in  a  velvet  arm 
chair,  and  shot  up  to  the  umpteenth  floor. 

I  was  lookin'  to  find  Mr.  Dawes  located  in  three  or 
four  rooms  and  bath,  but  from  what  I  could  judge 
of  the  size  of  his  ranch  he  must  pay  by  acreage  in- 
stead of  the  square  foot,  for  he  has  a  whole  wing  to 
himself.  And  as  for  hired  help,  they  was  standin' 
around  in  clusters,  all  got  up  in  baby  blue  and  silver, 
with  mugs  as  intelligent  as  so  many  frozen  codfish. 
Say,  it  would  give  me  chillblains  on  the  soul  to  have 
to  live  with  that  gang  lookin'  on ! 

I'm  shunted  from  one  to  the  other,  until  I  gets  to 
Dawes,  and  he  leads  the  way  into  a  big  room  with 
rubber  mats,  punchin'  bags,  and  all  the  fixin's  you 
could  think  of. 

"Will  this  do?"  says  he. 

"  It'll  pass,"  says  I.  "  And  if  you'll  chase  out  that 
bunch  of  employment  bureau  left-overs,  we'll  get 
down  to  business." 

"  But,"  says  he,  "  I  thought  you  might  need  some 
of  my  men  to " 

"  I  don't,"  says  I,  "  and  while  you're  mixin'  it  with 
me  you  won't,  either." 

At  that  she  shoos  'em  all  out  and  shuts  the  door.  I 
opens  the  window  so's  to  get  in  some  air  that  ain't 
been  strained  and  currycombed  and  scented  with 
violets,  and  then  we  starts  to  throw  the  shot  bag 

15 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

around.  I  find  Fletcher  is  short  winded  and  soft. 
He's  got  a  bad  liver  and  a  worse  heart,  for  five  or  six 
years'  trainin'  on  wealthy  water  and  pate  de  foie  gras 
hasn't  done  him  any  good.  Inside  of  ten  minutes  he 
knows  just  how  punky  he  is  himself,  and  he's  ready 
to  follow  any  directions  I  lay  down. 

As  I'm  leavin',  a  nice,  slick  haired  young  feller  calls 
me  over  and  hands  me  an  old  rose  tinted  check.  It 
was  for  five  hundred  and  twenty. 

"  Fifty-two  minutes,  professor,"  says  he. 

"  Oh,  let  that  pyramid,"  says  I,  tossin'  it  back. 

Honest,  I  never  shied  so  at  money  before,  but  some- 
how takin'  that  went  against  the  grain.  Maybe  it  was 
the  way  it  was  shoved  at  me. 

I'd  kind  of  got  interested  in  the  job  of  puttin* 
Dawes  on  his  feet,  though,  and  Thursday  I  goes  up 
for  another  session.  Just  as  I  steps  off  the  elevator 
at  his  floor  I  hears  a  scuffle,  and  out  comes  a  couple 
of  the  baby  blue  bunch,  shoving  along  an  old  party 
with  her  bonnet  tilted  over  one  ear.  I  gets  a  view  of 
her  face,  though,  and  I  sees  she's  a  nice,  decent  lookin' 
old  girl,  that  don't  seem  to  be  either  tanked  or  batty, 
but  just  kind  of  scared.  A  Willie  boy  in  a  frock  coat 
was  followin'  along  behind,  and  as  they  gets  to  me  he 
steps  up,  grabs  her  by  the  arm,  and  snaps  out : 

"  Now  you  leave  quietly,  or  I'll  hand  you  over  to  the 
police!  Understand?" 


SHORTY   AND   THE    PLUTE 

That  scares  her  worse  than  ever,  and  she  rolls  her 
eyes  up  to  me  in  that  pleadin'  way  a  dog  has  when 
he's  been  hurt. 

"Hear  that?"  says  one  of  the  baby  blues,  shakin' 
her  up. 

My  fingers  went  into  bunches  as  sudden  as  if  I'd 
touched  a  live  wire,  but  I  keeps  my  arms  down.  "  Ah, 
say !  "  says  I.  "  I  don't  see  any  call  for  the  station- 
house  drag  out  just  yet.  Loosen  up  there  a  bit,  will 
you?" 

"  Mind  your  business ! "  says  one  of  'em,  givin'  me 
the  glary  eye. 

"  Thanks,"  says  I.  "  I  was  waitin'  for  an  invite," 
and  I  reaches  out  and  gets  a  shut-off  grip  on  their 
necks.  It  didn't  take  'em  long  to  loosen  up  after  that. 

"  Here,  here !  "  says  the  Willie  that  I'd  spotted  for 
Corson.  "Oh,  it's  you  is  it,  professor?" 

"  Yes,  it's  me,"  says  I,  still  holdin'  the  pair  at  arms' 
length.  "What's  the  row?" 

"  Why,"  says  Corson,  "  this  old  woman " 

"  Lady,"  says  I. 

"  Aw — er — yes,"  says  he.  "  She  insists  on  fawcing 
her  way  in  to  see  Mr.  Dawes." 

"  Well,"  says  I,  "  she  ain't  got  no  bag  of  dynamite, 
or  anything  like  that,  has  she  ?  " 

"  I  just  wanted  a  word  with  Fletcher,"  says  she, 
buttin'  in — "  just  a  word  or  two." 

17 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

"  Friend  of  yours  ?  "  says  I. 

"Why —  Well,  we  have  known  each  other  for 
forty  years,"  says  she. 

"  That  ought  to  pass  you  in,"  says  I. 

"  But  she  refuses  to  give  her  name,"  says  Corson. 

"  I  am  Mrs.  Maria  Dawes,"  says  she,  holdin'  her 
chin  up  and  lookin'  him  straight  between  the  eyes. 

"  You're  not  on  the  list,"  says  Corson. 

"  List  be  blowed !  "  says  I.  "  Say,  you  peanut  head, 
can't  you  see  this  is  some  relation?  You  ought  to 
have  sense  enough  to  get  a  report  from  the  boss,  before 
you  carry  out  this  quick  bounce  business.  Perhaps 
you're  puttin'  your  foot  in  it,  son." 

Then  Corson  weakens,  and  the  old  lady  throws  me 
a  look  that  was  as  good  as  a  vote  of  thanks.  And 
say,  when  she'd  straightened  her  lid  and  pulled  herself 
together,  she  was  as  ladylike  an  old  party  as  you'd 
want  to  meet.  There  wa'n't  much  style  about  her, 
but  she  was  dressed  expensive  enough — furs,  and  silks, 
and  sparks  in  her  ears.  Looked  like  one  of  the  sort 
that  had  been  up  against  a  long  run  of  hard  luck  and 
had  come  through  without  gettin'  sour. 

While  we  was  arguin',  in  drifts  Mr.  Dawes  himself. 
I  gets  a  glimpse  of  his  face  when  he  first  spots  the 
old  girl,  and  if  ever  I  see  a  mouth  shut  like  a  safe 
door,  and  a  jaw  stiffen  as  if  it  had  turned  to  concrete, 
his  did. 

18 


SHORTY   AND   THE    PLUTE 

"  What  does  this  mean,  Maria  ?  "  he  says  between 
his  teeth. 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,  Fletcher,"  says  she.  "  I  wanted 
to  see  you  about  little  Bertie." 

"  Huh !  "  grunts  Fletcher.  "  Well,  step  in  this  way. 
McCabe,  you  can  come  along  too." 

I  wa'n't  stuck  on  the  way  it  was  said,  and  didn't 
hanker  for  mixin'  up  with  any  such  reunions;  but  it 
didn't  look  like  Maria  had  any  too  many  friends  handy, 
so  I  trots  along.  When  we're  shut  in,  with  the  dra- 
peries pulled,  Mr.  Dawes  plants  his  feet  solid,  shoves 
his  hands  down  into  his  pockets,  and  looks  Maria  over 
careful. 

"  Then  you  have  lost  the  address  of  my  attorneys  ?  " 
says  he,  real  frosty. 

That  don't  chill  Maria  at  all.  She  acted  like  she 
was  used  to  it.  "  No,"  says  she ;  "  but  I'm  tired  of 
talking  to  lawyers.  I  couldn't  tell  them  about  Bertie, 
and  how  lonesome  I've  been  without  him  these  last 
two  years.  Can't  I  have  him,  Fletcher?  " 

About  then  I  begins  to  get  a  glimmer  of  what  it 
was  all  about,  and  by  the  time  she'd  gone  on  for  four 
or  five  minutes  I  had  the  whole  story.  Maria  was  the 
ex-Mrs.  Fletcher  Dawes.  Little  Bertie  was  a  grand- 
son; and  grandma  wanted  Bertie  to  come  and  live 
with  her  in  the  big  Long  Island  place  that  Fletcher 
had  handed  her  when  he  swapped  her  off  for  one 

IQ 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

of  the  sextet,  and  settled  up  after  the  decree  was 
granted. 

Hearin'  that  brought  the  whole  thing  back,  for  the 
papers  printed  pages  about  the  Daweses;  rakin'  up 
everything,  from  the  time  Fletcher  run  a  grocery  store 
and  lodgin'  house  out  to  Butte,  and  Maria  helped  him 
sell  flour  and  canned  goods,  besides  makin'  beds,  and 
jugglin'  pans,  and  takin'  in  washin'  on  the  side;  to 
the  day  Fletcher  euchred  a  prospector  out  of  the  mine 
that  gave  him  his  start. 

"  You  were  satisfied  with  the  terms  of  the  settle- 
ment, when  it  was  made,"  says  Mr.  Dawes. 

"  I  know,"  says  she ;  "  but  I  didn't  think  how  badly 
I  should  miss  Bertie.  That  is  an  awful  big  house  over 
there,  and  I  am  getting  to  be  an  old  woman  now, 
•Fletcher." 

"  Yes,  you  are,"  says  he,  his  mouth  corners  liftin' 
a  little.  "  But  Bertie's  in  school,  where  he  ought  to 
be  and  where  he  is  going  to  stay.  Anything  more?" 

I  looks  at  Maria.  Her  upper  lip  was  wabblin'  some, 
but  that's  all.  "  No,  Fletcher,"  says  she.  "  I  shall  go 
now." 

She  was  just  about  startin',  when  there's  music  on 
the  other  side  of  the  draperies.  It  sounds  like  Corson 
was  havin'  his  troubles  with  another  female.  Only 
this  one  had  a  voice  like  a  brass  cornet,  and  she  was 
usin'  it  too. 

20 


SHORTY   AND    THE    PLUTE 

"  Why  can't  I  go  in  there  ?  "  says  she.  "  I'd  like 
to  know  why!  Eh,  what's  that?  A  woman  in 
there?" 

And  in  she  comes.  She  was  a  pippin,  all  right.  As 
she  yanks  back  the  curtain  and  rushes  in  she  looks 
about  as  friendly  as  a  spotted  leopard  that's  been 
stirred  up  with  an  elephant  hook;  but  when  she  sizes 
up  the  comp'ny  that's  present  she  cools  off  and  lets 
go  a  laugh  that  gives  us  an  iv'ry  display  worth 
seem". 

"  Oh !  "  says  she.     "  Fletchy,  who's  the  old  one?  " 

Say,  I  expect  Dawes  has  run  into  some  mighty 
worryin'  scenes  before  now,  havin'  been  indicted  once 
or  twice  and  so  on,  but  I'll  bet  he  never  bucked  up 
against  the  equal  of  this  before.  He  opens  his  mouth 
a  couple  of  times,  but  there  don't  seem  to  be  any 
language  on  tap.  The  missus  was  ready,  though. 

"  Maria  Dawes  is  my  name,  my  dear,"  says  she. 

"  Maria !  "  says  the  other  one,  lookin'  some  stag- 
gered. "  Why — why,  then  you — you're  Number 
One!" 

Maria  nods  her  head. 

Then  Fletcher  gets  his  tongue  out  of  tangle. 
"  Maria,"  says  he,  "  this  is  my  wife,  Maizie." 

"  Yes  ?  "  says  Maria,  as  gentle  as  a  summer  night. 
"  I  thought  this  must  be  Maizie.  You're  very  young 
and  pretty,  aren't  you?  I  suppose  you  go  about  a 

21 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

lot?  But  you  must  be  careful  of  Fletcher.  He  always 
was  foolish  about  staying  up  too  late,  and  eating  things 
that  hurt  him.  I  used  to  have  to  warn  him  against 
black  coffee  and  welsh  rabbits.  He  will  eat  them,  and 
then  he  has  one  of  his  bad  spells.  Fletcher  is  fifty-six 
now,  you  know,  and " 

"  Maria !  "  says  Mr.  Dawes,  his  face  the  colour  of  a 
boiled  beet,  "  that's  enough  of  this  foolishness ! 
Here,  Corson !  Show  this  lady  out !  " 

"  Yes,  I  was  just  going,  Fletcher,"  says  she. 

"  Good-bye,  Maria !  "  sings  out  Maizie,  and  then  lets 
out  another  of  her  soprano  ha-ha's,  holdin'  her  sides 
like  she  was  tickled  to  death.  Maybe  it  was  funny 
to  her;  it  wa'n't  to  Fletcher. 

"  Come,  McCabe,"  says  he ;  "  we'll  get  to  work." 

Say,  I  can  hold  in  about  so  long,  and  then  I've  got 
to  blow  off  or  else  bust  a  cylinder  head.  I'd  had  about 
enough  of  this  "  Come,  McCabe  "  business,  too.  "  Say, 
Fletchy,"  says  I,  "  don't  be  in  any  grand  rush.  I 
ain't  so  anxious  to  take  you  on  as  you  seem  to 
think." 

"What's  that?"  he  spits  out. 

"You  keep  your  ears  open  long  enough  and  you'll 
hear  it  all,"  says  I ;  for  I  was  gettin'  hotter  an'  hotter 
under  the  necktie.  "  I  just  want  to  say  that  I've 
worked  up  a  grouch  against  this  job  durin'  the  last 
few  minutes.  I  guess  I'll  chuck  it  up." 

22 


SHORTY   AND   THE    PLUTE 

That  seemed  to  go  in  deep.  Mr.  Dawes,  he  brings 
his  eyes  together  until  nothin'  but  the  wrinkle  keeps 
'em  apart,  and  he  gets  the  hectic  flush  on  his  cheek 
bones.  "  I  don't  understand,"  says  he. 

"  This  is  where  I  quit/'  says  I.     "  That's  all." 

"  But,"  says  he,  "  you  must  have  some  reason." 

"  Sure,"  says  I ;  "  two  of  'em.  One's  just  gone  out. 
That's  the  other,"  and  I  jerks  my  thumb  at  Maizie. 

She'd  been  rollin'  her  eyes  from  me  to  Dawes,  and 
from  Dawes  back  to  me.  "  What  does  this  fellow 
mean  by  that?"  says  Maizie.  "Fletcher,  why  don't 
you  have  him  thrown  out  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Fletcher,"  says  I,  "  why  don't  you  ?  I'd  love 
to  be  thrown  out  just  now !  " 

Someway,  Fletcher  wasn't  anxious,  although  he  had 
lots  of  bouncers  standin'  idle  within  call.  He  just 
stands  there  and  looks  at  his  toes,  while  Maizie  tongue 
lashes  first  me  and  then  him.  When  she  gets  through 
I  picks  up  my  hat. 

"So  long,  Fletchy,"  says  I.  "What  work  I  put 
in  on  you  the  other  day  I'm  goin'  to  make  you  a 
present  of.  If  I  was  you,  I'd  cash  that  check  and 
buy  somethin'  that  would  please  Maizie." 

"  D'jer  annex  another  five  or  six  hundred  up  to  the 
Brasstonia  this  afternoon  ?  "  asks  Swifty,  when  I  gets 
back. 

23 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

"  Nix,"  says  I.  "  All  I  done  was  to  organise  a  wife 
convention  and  get  myself  disliked.  That  ten-a- 
minute  deal  is  off.  But  say,  Swifty,  just  remember 
I've  dodged  makin'  the  bath  rubber  class,  and  I'm 
satisfied  at  that" 


II 

ROUNDING    UP    MAGGIE 

SAY,  who  was  tellin'  you?  Ah,  g'wan!  Them  sea 
shore  press  agents  is  full  of  fried  eels.  Disguises 
nothin'!  Them  folks  I  has  with  me  was  the  real 
things.  The  Rev.  Doc.  Akehead?  Not  much.  That 
was  my  little  old  Bishop.  And  it  wa'n't  any  slummin' 
party  at  all.  It  was  just  a  little  errand  of  mercy  that 
got  switched. 

It  was  this  way:  The  Bishop,  he  shows  up  at  the 
Studio  for  his  reg'lar  medicine  ball  work,  that  I'm 
givin'  him  so's  he  can  keep  his  equator  from  gettin' 
the  best  of  his  latitude.  That's  all  on  the  quiet, 
though.  It's  somethin'  I  ain't  puttin'  on  the  bulletin 
board,  or  includin'  in  my  list  of  references,  under- 
stand ? 

Well,  we  has  had  our  half-hour  session  and  the 
Bishop  has  just  made  a  break  for  the  cold  shower  and 
the  dressin'  room,  while  I'm  preparin'  to  shed  my 
workin'  clothes  for  the  afternoon ;  when  in  pops  Swifty 
Joe,  closin'  the  gym.  door  behind  him  real  soft  and 
mysterious. 

"  Shorty,"  says  he  in  that  hoarse  whisper  he  gets  on 
when  he's  excited,  "  she's — she's  come !  " 

25 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

"Who's  come?"  says  I. 

"  S-s-sh !  "  says  he,  wavin'  his  hands.  "  It's  the  old 
girl ;  and  she's  got  a  gun !  " 

"  Ah,  say ! "  says  I.  "  Come  out  of  the  trance. 
What  old  girl  ?  And  what  about  the  gun  ?  " 

Maybe  you've  never  seen  Swifty  when  he's  real 
stirred  up?  He  wears  a  corrugated  brow,  and  his 
lower  jaw  hangs  loose,  leavin'  the  Mammoth  Cave 
wide  open,  and  his  eyes  bug  out  like  shoe  buttons. 
His  thoughts  come  faster  than  he  can  separate  him- 
self from  the  words ;  so  it's  hard  gettin'  at  just  what 
he  means  to  say.  But,  as  near  as  I  can  come  to  it, 
there's  a  wide  female  party  waitin'  out  in  the  front 
office  for  me,  with  blood  in  her  eye  and  a  self  cockin' 
section  of  the  unwritten  law  in  her  fist. 

Course,  I  knows  right  off  there  must  be  some  mis- 
take, or  else  it's  a  case  of  dope,  and  I  says  so.  But 
Swifty  is  plumb  sure  she  knew  who  she  was  askin' 
for  when  she  calls  for  me,  and  begs  me  not  to  go  out. 
He's  for  ringin'  up  the  police. 

"  Ring  up  nobody !  "  says  I.  "  S'pose  I  want  this 
thing  gettin'  into  the  papers?  If  a  Lady  Bughouse 
has  strayed  in  here,  we  got  to  shoo  her  out  as  quiet  as 
possible.  She  can't  shoot  if  we  rush  her.  Come 
on!" 

I  will  say  for  Swifty  Joe  that,  while  he  ain't  got  any 
too  much  sense,  there's  no  ochre  streak  in  him.  When 

26 


ROUNDING   UP    MAGGIE 

I  pulls  open  the  gym.  door  and  gives  the  word,  we 
went  through  neck  and  neck. 

"  Look  out !  "  he  yells,  and  I  sees  him  makin'  a 
grab  at  the  arm  of  a  broad  beamed  old  party,  all  done 
up  nicely  in  grey  silk  and  white  lace. 

And  say,  it's  lucky  I  got  a  good  mem'ry  for  profiles ; 
for  if  I  hadn't  seen  right  away  it  was  Purdy  Bligh's 
Aunt  Isabella,  and  that  the  gun  was  nothin'  but  her 
silver  hearin'  tube,  we  might  have  been  tryin'  to 
explain  it  to  her  yet.  As  it  is,  I'm  just  near  enough  to 
make  a  swipe  for  Swifty's  right  hand  with  my  left,  and 
I  jerks  his  paw  back  just  as  she  turns  around  from 
lookin'  out  of  the  window  and  gets  her  lamps  on  us. 
Say,  we  must  have  looked  like  a  pair  of  batty  ones, 
standin'  there  holdin'  hands  and  starin'  at  her !  But  it 
seems  that  folks  as  deaf  as  she  is  ain't  easy  surprised. 
All  she  does  is  feel  around  her  for  her  gold  eye  glasses 
with  one  hand,  and  fit  the  silver  hearin'  machine  to  her 
off  ear  with  the  other.  It's  one  of  these  pepper  box 
affairs,  and  I  didn't  much  wonder  that  Swifty  took  it 
for  a  gun. 

"Are  you  Professor  McCabe?"  says  she. 

"  Sure !  "  I  hollers ;  and  Swifty,  not  lookin'  for  such 
strenuous  conversation,  goes  up  in  the  air  about  two 
feet. 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  says  the  old  girl ;  "  but  will  you 
kindly  speak  into  the  audiphone." 

27 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

So  I  steps  up  closer,  forgettin'  that  I  still  has  the 
clutch  on  Swifty,  and  drags  him  along. 

"  Ahr,  chee ! "  says  Swifty.  "  This  ain't  no  brother 
act,  is  it?" 

With  that  I  lets  him  go,  and  me  and  Aunt  Isabella 
gets  down  to  business.  I  was  lookin'  for  some  tale 
about  Purdy — tell  you  about  him  some  day — but  it 
looks  like  this  was  a  new  deal;  for  she  opens  up 
by  askin'  if  I  knew  a  party  by  the  name  of  Dennis 
Whaley. 

"  Do  I  ?  "  says  I.  "  I've  known  Dennis  ever  since 
I  can  remember  knowin'  anybody.  He's  runnin'  my 
place  out  to  Primrose  Park  now." 

"  I  thought  so,"  says  Aunt  Isabella.  "  Then  per- 
haps you  know  a  niece  of  his,  Margaret  Whaley  ?  " 

I  didn't;  but  I'd  heard  of  her.  She's  Terence 
Whaley 's  girl,  that  come  over  from  Skibbereen  four 
or  five  years  back,  after  near  starvin'  to  death  one 
wet  season  when  the  potato  crop  was  so  bad.  Well, 
it  seems  Maggie  has  worked  a  couple  of  years  for 
Aunt  Isabella  as  kitchen  girl.  Then  she's  got  am- 
bitious, quit  service,  and  got  a  flatwork  job  in  a  hand 
laundry — eight  per,  fourteen  hours  a  day,  Saturday 
sixteen. 

I  didn't  tumble  why  all  this  was  worth  chinnin' 
about  until  Aunt  Isabella  reminds  me  that  she's  presi- 
dent and  board  of  directors  of  the  Lady  Pot  Wrestlers' 

28 


ROUNDING   UP   MAGGIE 

Improvement  Society.  She's  one  of  the  kind  that 
spends  her  time  tryin'  to  organise  study  classes  for 
hired  girls  who  have  different  plans  for  spendin'  their 
Thursday  afternoons  off. 

Seems  that  Aunt  Isabella  has  been  keepin'  special 
tabs  on  Maggie,  callin'  at  the  laundry  to  give  her  good 
advice,  and  leavin'  her  books  to  read, — which  I  got 
a  tintype  of  her  readin',  not, — and  otherwise  doin'  the 
upliftin'  act  accordin'  to  rule.  But  along  in  the  early 
summer  Maggie  had  quit  the  laundry  without  consult- 
in'  the  old  girl  about  it.  Aunt  Isabella  kept  on  the 
trail,  though,  run  down  her  last  boardin'  place,  and 
begun  writin'  her  what  she  called  helpful  letters.  She 
kept  this  up  until  she  was  handed  the  ungrateful  jolt. 
The  last  letter  come  back  to  her  with  a  few  remarks 
scribbled  across  the  face,  indicatin'  that  readin'  such 
stuff  gave  Maggie  a  pain  in  the  small  of  her  back. 
But  the  worst  of  it  all  was,  accordin'  to  Aunt  Isabella, 
that  Maggie  was  in  Coney  Island. 

"Think  of  it!"  says  she.  "That  poor,  innocent 
girl,  living  in  that  dreadfully  wicked  place!  Isn't  it 
terrible?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  says  I.     "  It  all  depends." 
"  Hey?  "  says  the  old  girl.     "  What  say?  " 
Ever  try  to  carry  on  a  debate  through  a  silver  salt 
shaker?     It's  the  limit.     Thinkin'  it  would  be  a  lot 
easier  to  agree  with  her,  I  shouts  out,  "  Sure  thing !  " 

29 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

and  nods  my  head.  She  nods  back  and  rolls  her 
eyes. 

"  She  must  be  rescued  at  once !  "  says  Aunt  Isabella. 
"  Her  uncle  ought  to  be  notified.  Can't  you  send  for 
him?" 

As  it  happens,  Dennis  had  come  down  that  morn- 
in'  to  see  an  old  friend  of  his  that  was  due  to  croak; 
so  I  figures  it  out  that  the  best  way  would  be  to  get 
him  and  the  old  lady  together  and  let  'em  have  it  out. 
I  chases  Swifty  down  to  West  nth-st.  to  bring  Dennis 
back  in  a  hurry,  and  invites  Aunt  Isabella  to  make  her- 
self comfortable  until  he  comes. 

She's  too  excited  to  sit  down,  though.  She  goes 
pacin'  around  the  front  office,  now  and  then  lookin' 
me  over  suspicious, — me  bein'  still  in  my  gym.  suit, — 
and  then  sizin'  up  the  sportin'  pictures  on  the  wall. 
My  art  exhibit  is  mostly  made  up  of  signed  photos 
of  Jeff  and  Fitz  and  Nelson  in  their  ring  costumes, 
and  it  was  easy  to  see  she's  some  jarred. 

"  I  hope  this  is  a  perfectly  respectable  place,  young 
man,"  says  she. 

"  It  ain't  often  pulled  by  the  cops,"  says  I. 

Instead  of  calmin'  her  down,  that  seems  to  stir  her 
up  worse'n  ever.  "  I  should  hope  not !  "  says  she. 
"  How  long  must  I  wait  here  ?  " 

"  No  longer'n  you  feel  like  waiting  ma'am," 
says  I. 

30 


ROUNDING   UP   MAGGIE 

And  just  then  the  gym.  door  opens,  and  in  walks  the 
Bishop,  that  I'd  clean  forgot  all  about. 

"Why,  Bishop!"  squeals  Aunt  Isabella.  "You 
here!" 

Say,  it  didn't  need  any  second  sight  to  see  that  the 
Bishop  would  have  rather  met  'most  anybody  else  at 
that  particular  minute;  but  he  hands  her  the  neat  re- 
turn. "  It  appears  that  I  am,"  says  he.  "  And 
you?" 

Well,  it  was  up  to  her  to  do  the  explainin'.  She 
gives  him  the  whole  history  of  Maggie  Whaley,  wind- 
in'  up  with  how  she's  been  last  heard  from  at  Coney 
Island. 

"  Isn't  it  dreadful,  Bishop  ?  "  says  she.  "  And  can't 
you  do  something  to  help  rescue  her?" 

Now  I  was  lookin'  for  the  Bishop  to  say  somethin' 
soothin';  but  hanged  if  he  don't  chime  in  and  admit 
that  it's  a  sad  case  and  he'll  do  what  he  can  to  help. 

About  then  Swifty  shows  up  with  Dennis,  and  Aunt 
Isabella  lays  it  before  him.  Now,  accordin'  to  his 
own  account,  Dennis  and  Terence  always  had  it  in 
for  each  other  at  home,  and  he  never  took  much  stock 
in  Maggie,  either.  But  after  he'd  listened  to  Aunt  Isa- 
bella for  a  few  minutes,  hearin'  her  talk  about  his  duty 
to  the  girl,  and  how  she  ought  to  be  yanked  off  the 
toboggan  of  sin,  he  takes  it  as  serious  as  any  of  'em. 

"  Wurrah,  wurrah ! "  says  he,  "  but  this  do  be  a 
31 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

black  day  for  the  Whaleys !  It's  the  McGuigan  blood 
comin'  out  in  her.  What's  to  be  done,  mum  ?  " 

Aunt  Isabella  has  a  program  all  mapped  out.  Her 
idea  is  to  get  up  a  rescue  expedition  on  the  spot,  and 
start  for  Coney.  She  says  Dennis  ought  to  go;  for 
he's  Maggie's  uncle  and  has  got  some  authority;  and 
she  wants  the  Bishop,  to  do  any  pray  in'  over  her  that 
may  be  needed. 

"  As  for  me,"  says  she,  "  I  shall  do  my  best  to  per- 
suade her  to  leave  her  wicked  companions." 

Well,  they  was  all  agreed,  and  ready  to  start,  when 
it  comes  out  that  not  one  of  the  three  has  ever  been 
to  the  island  in  their  lives,  and  don't  know  how  to  get 
there.  At  that  I  sees  the  Bishop  lookin'  expectant 
at  me. 

"  Shorty,"  says  he,  "  I  presume  you  are  somewhat 
familiar  with  this — er — wicked  resort  ?  " 

"  Not  the  one  you're  talkin'  about,"  says  I.  "  I've 
been  goin'  to  Coney  every  year  since  I  was  old  enough 
to  toddle;  and  I'll  admit  there  has  been  seasons  when 
some  parts  of  it  was  kind  of  tough ;  but  as  a  general 
proposition  it  never  looked  wicked  to  me." 

That  kind  of  puzzles  the  Bishop.  He  says  he's  al- 
ways understood  that  the  island  was  sort  of  a  vent  hole 
for  the  big  sulphur  works.  Aunt  Isabella  is  dead  sure 
of  it  too,  and  hints  that  maybe  I  ain't  much  of  a  judge. 
Anyway,  she  thinks  I'd  be  a  good  guide  for  a  place  of 

32 


ROUNDING   UP    MAGGIE 

that  kind,    and    prods    the    Bishop    on   to    urge    me 
to  go. 

"  Well,"  says  I,  "  just  for  a  flier,  I  will." 

So,  as  soon  as  I've  changed  my  clothes,  we  starts 
for  the  iron  steamboats,  and  plants  ourselves  on  the 
upper  deck.  And  say,  we  was  a  sporty  lookin'  bunch 
— I  don't  guess !  There  was  the  Bishop,  in  his  little 
flat  hat  and  white  choker, — you  couldn't  mistake  what 
he  was, — and  Aunt  Isabella,  with  her  grey  hair  and 
her  grey  and  white  costume,  lookin'  about  as  giddy  as 
a  marble  angel  on  a  tombstone.  Then  there's  Dennis, 
who  has  put  on  the  black  whip  cord  Prince  Albert  he 
always  wears  when  he's  visitin'  sick  friends  or  attend- 
in'  funerals.  The  only  festive  lookin'  point  about  him 
was  the  russet  coloured  throat  hedge  he  wears  in  place 
of  a  necktie. 

Honest,  I  felt  sorry  for  them  suds  slingers  that 
travels  around  the  deck  singin'  out,  "  Who  wants  the 
waiter  ?  "  Every  time  one  would  come  our  way  he'd 

get  as  far  as  "  Who  wants "  and  then  he'd  switch 

off  with  an  "  Ah,  chee !  "  and  go  away  disgusted. 

All  the  way  down,  the  old  girl  has  her  eye  out  for 
wickedness.  The  sight  of  Adolph,  the  grocery  clerk, 
dippin'  his  beak  into  a  mug  of  froth,  moves  her  to 
sit  up  and  give  him  the  stony  glare;  while  a  glimpse 
of  a  young  couple  snugglin'  up  against  each  other 
along  the  rail  almost  gives  her  a  spasm. 

33 


SIDE-STEPPING    WITH    SHORTY 

"  Such  brazen  depravity !  "  says  she  to  the  Bishop. 

By  the  time  we  lands  at  the  iron  pier  she  has 
knocked  Coney  so  much  that  I  has  worked  up  a  first 
class  grouch. 

"  Come  on !  "  says  I.  "  Let's  have  Maggie's  ad- 
dress and  get  through  with  this  rescue  business  before 
all  you  good  folks  is  soggy  with  sin." 

Then  it  turns  out  she  ain't  got  any  address  at  all. 
The  most  she  knows  is  that  Maggie's  somewhere  on 
the  island. 

"  Well,"  I  shouts  into  the  tube,  "  Coney's  some- 
thing of  a  place,  you  see !  What's  your  idea  of  findin' 
her?" 

"  We  must  search,"  says  Aunt  Isabella,  prompt  and 
decided. 

"  Mean  to  throw  out  a  regular  drag  net  ?  "  says  I. 

She  does.  Well,  say,  if  you've  ever  been  to  Coney 
on  a  good  day,  when  there  was  from  fifty  to  a  hun- 
dred thousand  folks  circulatin'  about,  you've  got  some 
notion  of  what  a  proposition  of  that  kind  means. 
Course,  I  wa'n't  goin  to  tackle  the  job  with  any  hope 
of  gettin'  away  with  it ;  but  right  there  I'm  struck  with 
a  pleasin'  thought. 

"  Do  I  gather  that  I'm  to  be  the  Commander  Peary 
of  this  expedition  ?  "  says  I. 

It  was  a  unanimous  vote  that  I  was. 

"  Well,"  says  I,  "  you  know  you  can't  carry  it 
34 


ROUNDING   UP   MAGGIE 

through  on  hot  air.  It  takes  coin  to  get  past  the  gates 
in  this  place." 

Aunt  Isabella  says  she's  prepared  to  stand  all  the 
expense.  And  what  do  you  suppose  she  passes  out? 
A  green  five ! 

"  Ah,  say,  this  ain't  any  Sunday  school  excursion," 
says  I.  "  Why,  that  wouldn't  last  us  a  block.  Guess 
you'll  have  to  dig  deeper  or  call  it  off." 

She  was  game,  though.  She  brings  up  a  couple 
of  tens  next  dip,  the  Bishop  adds  two  more,  and  I 
heaves  in  one  on  my  own  hook. 

"  Now  understand,"  says  I,  "  if  I'm  headin'  this 
procession  there  mustn't  be  any  hangin'  back  or  argu- 
in'  about  the  course.  Coney's  no  place  for  a  quitter, 
and  there's  some  queer  corners  in  it ;  but  we're  lookin' 
for  a  particular  party,  so  we  can't  skip  any.  Follow 
close,  don't  ask  me  fool  questions,  and  everybody  keep 
their  eye  skinned  for  Maggie.  Is  that  clear?  " 

They  said  it  was. 

"  Then  we're  off  in  a  bunch.     This  way !  "  says  I. 

Say,  it  was  almost  too  good  to  be  true.  I  hadn't 
more'n  got  'em  inside  of  Dreamland  before  they  has 
their  mouths  open  and  their  eyes  popped,  and  they  was 
so  rattled  they  didn't  know  whether  they  was  goin'  up 
or  comin'  down.  The  Bishop  grabs  me  by  the  elbow, 
Aunt  Isabella  gets  a  desperate  grip  on  his  coat  tails, 
and  Dennis  hooks  two  fingers  into  the  back  of  her  belt. 

35 


SIDE-STEPPING    WITH    SHORTY 

When  we  lines  up  like  that  we  has  the  fat  woman  tak- 
in'  her  first  camel  ride  pushed  behind  the  screen.  The 
barkers  out  in  front  of  the  dime  attractions  takes  one 
look  at  us  and  loses  their  voices  for  a  whole  minute — 
and  it  takes  a  good  deal  to  choke  up  one  of  them 
human  cyclones.  I  gives  'em  back  the  merry  grin  and 
blazes  ahead. 

First  thing  I  sees  that  looks  good  is  the  wiggle- 
waggle  brass  staircase,  where  half  of  the  steps  goes 
up  as  the  other  comes  down. 

"  Now,  altogether ! "  says  I,  feedin'  the  coupons  to 
the  ticket  man,  and  I  runs  'em  up  against  the  liver 
restorer  at  top  speed.  Say  that  exhibition  must  have 
done  the  rubbernecks  good !  First  we  was  all  jolted 
up  in  a  heap,  then  we  was  strung  out  like  a  yard  of 
frankfurters ;  but  I  kept  'em  at  it  until  we  gets  to  the 
top.  Aunt  Isabella  has  lost  her  breath  and  her  bonnet 
has  slid  over  one  ear,  the  Bishop  is  red  in  the  face, 
and  Dennis  is  puffin'  like  a  freight  engine. 

"  No  Maggie  here,"  says  I.  "  We'll  try  somewhere 
else." 

No.  2  on  the  event  card  was  the  water  chutes,  and 
while  we  was  slidin'  up  on  the  escalator  they  has  a 
chance  to  catch  their  wind.  They  didn't  get  any 
more'n  they  needed  though ;  for  just  as  Aunt  Isabella 
has  started  to  ask  the  platform  man  if  he'd  seen  any- 
thing of  Maggie  Whaley,  a  boat  comes  up  on  the  cogs, 

36 


THEY  TACKLES  ANYTHING  I  LEADS  'EM  UP  TO 


ROUNDING   UP    MAGGIE 

and  I  yells  for  'em  to  jump  in  quick.  The  next  thing 
they  knew  we  was  scootin'  down  that  slide  at  the  rate 
of  a  hundred  miles  an  hour,  with  three  of  us  holdin' 
onto  our  hats,  and  one  lettin'  out  forty  squeals  to  the 
minute. 

"  O-o-o  o-o-o !  "  says  Aunt  Isabella,  as  we  hits  the 
water  and  does  the  bounding  bounce, 

"  That's  right,"  says  I ;  "  let  'em  know  you're  here. 
It's  the  style." 

Before  they've  recovered  from  the  chute  ride  I've 
hustled  'em  over  to  one  of  them  scenic  railroads,  where 
you're  yanked  up  feet  first  a  hundred  feet  or  so,  and 
then  shot  down  through  painted  canvas  mountains  for 
about  a  mile.  Say,  it  was  a  hummer,  too !  I  don't, 
know  what  there  is  about  travellin'  fast ;  but  it  always 
warms  up  my  blood,  and  about  the  third  trip  I  feels 
like  sendin'  out  yelps  of  joy. 

Course,  I  didn't  expect  it  would  have  any  such  effect 
on  the  Bishop;  but  as  we  went  slammin'  around  a 
sharp  corner  I  gets  a  look  at  his  face.  And  would 
you  believe  it,  he's  wearin'  a  reg'lar  breakfast  food 
grin !  Next  plunge  we  take  I  hears  a  whoop  from  the 
back  seat,  and  I  knows  that  Dennis  has  caught  it, 
too. 

I  was  afraid  muybe  the  old  girl  has  fainted;  but 
when  we  brings  up  at  the  bottom  and  I  has  a  chance 
to  turn  around,  I  finds  her  still  grippin'  the  car  seat, 

37 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

her  feet  planted  firm,  and  a  kind  of  wild,  reckless  look 
in  her  eyes. 

"  We  did  that  last  lap  a  little  rapid,"  says  I.  "  May- 
be we  ought  to  cover  the  ground  again,  just  to  be  sure 
we  didn't  miss  Maggie.  How  about  repeatin'  eh  ?  " 

"  I — I  wouldn't  mind,"  says  she. 

"  Good ! "  says  I.  "  Percy,  send  her  off  for  an- 
other spiel." 

And  we  encores  the  performance,  with  Dennis  givin' 
the  Donnybrook  call,  and  the  smile  on  the  Bishop's 
face  growin' wider  and  wider.  Fun?  I've  done  them 
same  stunts  with  a  gang  of  real  sporting  men,  and 
never  bad  the  half  of  it. 

After  that  my  crowd  was  ready  for  anything.  They 
forgets  all  about  the  original  proposition,  and  tackles 
anything  I  leads  them  up  to,  from  bumpin'  the  bumps 
to  ridin'  down  in  the  tubs  on  the  tickler.  When  we'd 
got  through  with  Dreamland  and  the  Steeplechase,  we 
wanders  down  the  Bowery  and  hits  up  some  hot  dog 
and  green  corn  rations. 

By  the  time  I  gets  ready  to  lead  them  across  Surf- 
ave.  to  Luna  Park  it  was  dark,  and  about  a  million 
incandescents  had  been  turned  on.  Well,  you  know 
the  kind  of  picture  they  gets  their  first  peep  at.  Course, 
it's  nothin'  but  white  stucco  and  gold  leaf  and  electric 
light,  with  the  blue  sky  beyond.  But  say,  first  glimpse 
vou  get,  don't  it  knock  your  eye  out  ?  " 

38 


ROUNDING   UP    MAGGIE 

"  Whist !  "  says  Dennis,  gawpin'  up  at  the  front  like 
he  meant  to  swallow  it.  "  Is  ut  the  Blessed  Gates 
we're  comin'  to  ?  " 

"  Magnificent !  "  says  the  Bishop. 

And  just  then  Aunt  Isabella  gives  a  gasp  and  sings 
out,  "  Maggie !  " 

Well,  as  Dennis  says  afterwards,  in  tellin'  Mother 
Whaley  about  it,  "Glory  be,  would  yez  think  ut?  I 
hears  her  spake  thot  name,  and  up  I  looks,  and  as 
I'm  a  breathin'  man,  there  sits  Maggie  Whaley  in  a 
solid  goold  chariot  all  stuck  with  jools,  her  hair  puffed 
out  like  a  crown,  and  the  very  neck  of  her  blazin'  with 
pearls  and  di'monds.  Maggie  Whaley,  mind  ye,  the 
own  daughter  of  Terence,  that's  me  brother;  and  her 
the  boss  of  a  place  as  big  as  the  houses  of  parli'ment 
and  finer  than  Windsor  castle  on  the  King's  birthday !  " 

It  was  Maggie  all  right.  She  was  sittin'  in  a  chariot 
too — you've  seen  them  fancy  ticket  booths  they  has 
down  to  Luna.  And  she  has  had  her  hair  done  up  by 
an  upholsterer,  and  put  through  a  crimpin'  machine. 
That  and  the  Brazilian  near-gem  necklace  she  wears 
does  give  her  a  kind  of  a  rich  and  fancy  look,  provid- 
in'  you  don't  get  too  close. 

She  wasn't  exactly  bossin'  the  show.  She  was  sell- 
in'  combination  tickets,  that  let  you  in  on  so  many 
rackets  for  a  dollar.  She'd  chucked  the  laundry  job 
for  this,  and  she  was  lookin'  like  she  was  glad  she'd 

39 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

made  the  shift.  But  here  was  four  of  us  who'd  come 
to  rescue  her  and  lead  her  back  to  the  ironin'  board. 

Aunt  Isabella  makes  the  first  break.  She  tells 
Maggie  who  she  is  and  why  she's  come.  "  Margaret," 
says  she,  "  I  do  hope  you  will  consent  to  leave  this 
wicked  life.  Please  say  you  will,  Margaret !  " 

"  Ah,  turn  it  off !  "  says  Maggie.  "  Me  back  to  the 
sweat  box  at  eight  per  when  I'm  gettin'  fourteen  for 
this  ?  Not  on  your  ping  pongs !  Fade,  Aunty,  fade  !  " 

Then  the  Bishop  is  pushed  up  to  take  his  turn.  He 
says  he  is  glad  to  meet  Maggie,  and  hopes  she  likes 
her  new  job.  Maggie  says  she  does.  She  lets  out, 
too,  that  she's  engaged  to  the  gentleman  what  does  a 
refined  acrobatic  specialty  in  the  third  attraction  on 
the  left,  and  that  when  they  close  in  the  fall  he's 
goin'  to  coach  her  up  so's  they  can  do  a  double  turn  in 
the  continuous  houses  next  winter  at  from  sixty  to 
seventy-five  per,  each.  So  if  she  ever  irons  another 
shirt,  it'll  be  just  to  show  that  she  ain't  proud. 

And  that's  where  the  rescue  expedition  goes  out  of 
business  with  a  low,  hollow  plunk.  Among  the  three 
of  'em  not  one  has  a  word  left  to  say. 

"Well,  folks,"  says  I,  "what  are  we  here  for? 
Shall  we  finish  the  evenin'  like  we  begun  ?  We're  only 
alive  once,  you  know,  and  this  is  the  only  Coney  there 
is.  How  about  it?" 

Did  we?  Inside  of  two  minutes  Maggie  has  sold 
40 


ROUNDING   UP   MAGGIE 

us  four  entrance  tickets,  and  we're  headed  for  the  big- 
gest and  wooziest  thriller  to  be  found  in  the  lot. 

"  Shorty,"  says  the  Bishop,  as  we  settles  ourselves 
for  a  ride  home  on  the  last  boat,  "  I  trust  I  have  done 
nothing  unseemly  this  evening." 

"  What !  You  ?  "  says  I.  "  Why,  Bishop,  you're  a 
reg'lar  ripe  old  sport ;  and  any  time  you  feel  like  cuttin' 
loose  again,  with  Aunt  Isabella  or  without,  just  send 
in  a  call  for  me." 


Ill 

UP  AGAINST  BENTLEY 

SAY,  where's  Palopinto,  anyway?  Well  neither  did 
I.  It's  somewhere  around  Dallas,  but  that  don't  help 
me  any.  Texas,  eh  ?  You  sure  don't  mean  it !  Why, 
I  thought  there  wa'n't  nothin'  but  one  night  stands 
down  there.  But  this  Palopinto  ain't  in  that  class  at 
all.  Not  much!  It's  a  real  torrid  proposition.  No, 
I  ain't  been  there;  but  I've  been  up  against  Bentley, 
who  has. 

He  wa'n't  mine,  to  begin  with.  I  got  him  second 
hand.  You  see,  he  come  along  just  as  I  was  havin' 
a  slack  spell.  Mr.  Gordon — yes,  Pyramid  Gordon — 
he  calls  up  on  the  'phone  and  says  he's  in  a  hole. 
Seems  he's  got  a  nephew  that's  comin'  on  from  some- 
where out  West  to  take  a  look  at  New  York,  and  needs 
some  one  to  keep  him  from  fallin'  off  Brooklyn  Bridge. 

"  How's  he  travellin',"  says  I ;  "  tagged,  in  care  of 
the  conductor  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  says  Mr.  Gordon.  "  He's  about  twenty- 
two,  and  able  to  take  care  of  himself  anywhere  except 
in  a  city  like  this."  Then  he  wants  to  know  how  I'm 
fixed  for  time. 

"  I  got  all  there  is  on  the  clock,"  says  I. 
42 


UP   AGAINST   BENTLEY 

"  And  would  you  be  willing  to  try  keeping  Bentley 
out  of  mischief  until  I  get  back  ?  "  says  he. 

"  Sure  as  ever,"  says  I.  "  I  don't  s'pose  he's  any 
holy  terror ;  is  he  ?  " 

Pyramid  said  he  wa'n't  quite  so  bad  as  that.  He 
told  me  that  Bentley'd  been  brought  up  on  a  big  cattle 
ranch  out  there,  and  that  now  he  was  boss. 

"  He's  been  making  a  lot  of  money  recently,  too," 
says  Mr.  Gordon,  "  and  he  insists  on  a  visit  East. 
Probably  he  will  want  to  let  New  York  know  that  he 
has  arrived,  but  you  hold  him  down." 

"  Oh,  I'll  keep  him  from  liftin'  the  lid,  all  right," 
says  I. 

"That's  the  idea,  Shorty,"  says  he.  "I'll  write  a 
note  telling  him  all  about  you,  and  giving  him  a  few 
suggestions." 

I  had  a  synopsis  of  Bentley 's  time  card,  so  as  soon's 
he'd  had  a  chance  to  open  up  his  trunk  and  wash  off 
some  of  the  car  dust  I  was  waitin'  at  the  desk  in  the 
Waldorf. 

Now  of  course,  bein'  warned  ahead,  and  hearin' 
about  this  cattle  ranch  business,  I  was  lookin'  for  a 
husky  boy  in  a  six  inch  soft-brim  and  leather  pants. 
I'd  calculated  on  havin'  to  persuade  him  to  take  off  his 
spurs  and  leave  his  guns  with  the  clerk. 

But  what  steps  out  of  the  elevator  and  answers  to 
the  name  of  Bentley  is  a  Willie  boy  that  might  have 

43 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

blown  in  from  Asbury  Park  or  Far  Rockaway.  He 
was  draped  in  a  black  and  white  checked  suit  that  you 
could  broil  a  steak  on,  with  the  trousers  turned  up 
so's  to  show  the  openwork  silk  socks,  and  the  coat 
creased  up  the  sides  like  it  was  made  over  a  cracker 
box.  His  shirt  was  a  MacGregor  plaid,  and  the  band 
around  his  Panama  was  a  hand  width  Roman  stripe. 

"  Gee !  "  thinks  I,  "  if  that's  the  way  cow  boys  dress 
nowadays,  no  wonder  there's  scandals  in  the  beef 
business ! " 

But  if  you  could  forget  his  clothes  long  enough  to 
size  up  what  was  in  'em,  you  could  see  that  Bentley 
was  a  mild  enough  looker.  There's  lots  of  bank  mes- 
sengers and  brokers'  clerks  just  like  him  comin'  over 
from  Brooklyn  and  Jersey  every  mornin'.  He  was 
about  five  feet  eight,  and  skimpy  built,  and  he  had  one 
of  these  recedin'  faces  that  looked  like  it  was  tryin'  to 
get  away  from  his  nose. 

But  then,  it  ain't  always  the  handsome  boys  that 
behaves  the  best,  and  the  more  I  got  acquainted  with 
Bentley,  the  better  I  thought  of  him.  He  said  he  was 
mighty  glad  I  showed  up  instead  of  Mr.  Gordon. 

"  Uncle  Henry  makes  me  weary,"  says  he.  "  I've 
just  been  reading  a  letter  from  him,  four  pages,  and 
most  of  it  was  telling  me  what  not  to  do.  And  this 
the  first  time  I  was  ever  in  New  York  since  I've  been 
old  enough  to  remember !  " 

44 


UP   AGAINST   BENTLEY 

"  You'd  kind  of  planned  to  see  things,  eh  ?  "  says  I. 

"  Why,  yes,"  says  Bentley.  "  There  isn't  much  ex- 
citement out  on  the  ranch,  you  know.  Of  course,  we 
ride  into  Palopinto  once  or  twice  a  month,  and  some- 
times take  a  run  up  to  Dallas ;  but  that's  not  like  get- 
ting to  New  York." 

"  No/'  says  I.  "  I  guess  you're  able  to  tell  the  dif- 
ference between  this  burg  and  them  places  you  men- 
tion, without  lookin'  twice.  What  is  Dallas,  a  water 
tank  stop  ?  " 

"  It's  a  little  bigger'n  that,"  says  he,  kind  of 
smilin'. 

But  he  was  a  nice,  quiet  actin'  youth;  didn't  talk 
loud,  nor  go  through  any  tough  motions.  I  see  right 
off  that  I'd  been  handed  the  wrong  set  of  specifications, 
and  I  didn't  lose  any  time  framin'  him  up  accordin' 
to  new  lines.  I  knew  his  kind  like  a  book.  You  could 
turn  him  loose  in  New  York  for  a  week,  and  the  most 
desperate  thing  he'd  find  to  do  would  be  smokin' 
cigarettes  on  the  back  seat  of  a  rubberneck  waggon. 
And  yet  he'd  come  all  the  way  from  the  jumpin'  off 
place  to  have  a  little  innocent  fun. 

"  Uncle  Henry  wrote  me,"  says  he,  "  that  while  I'm 
here  I'd  better  take  in  the  Metropolitan  Museum  of 
Art,  and  visit  St.  Patrick's  Cathedral  and  Grant's 
Tomb.  But  say,  I'd  like  something  a  little  livelier 
than  that,  you  know." 

45 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

He  was  so  mild  about  it  that  I  works  up  enough 
sympathy  to  last  an  S.  P.  C.  A.  president  a  year.  I 
could  see  just  what  he  was  achin'  for.  It  wa'n't  a 
sight  of  oil  paintin's  or  churches.  He  wanted  to  be 
able  to  go  back  among  the  flannel  shirts  and  tell  the 
boys  tales  that  would  make  their  eyes  stick  out.  He 
was  ambitious  to  go  on  a  regular  cut  up,  but  didn't 
know  how,  and  wouldn't  have  had  the  nerve  to  tackle 
it  alone  if  he  had  known. 

Now,  I  ain't  ever  done  any  red  light  pilotin',  and 
didn't  have  any  notion  of  beginnin'  then,  especially 
with  a  youngster  as  nice  and  green  as  Bentley;  but 
right  there  and  then  I  did  make  up  my  mind  that  I'd 
steer  him  up  against  somethin'  more  excitin'  than  a 
front  view  of  Grace  Church  at  noon.  It  was  comin' 
to  him. 

"  See  here,  Bentley,"  says  I,  "  I've  passed  my  word 
to  kind  of  look  after  you,  and  keep  you  from  rippin' 
things  up  the  back  here  in  little  old  New  York;  but 
seein'  as  this  is  your  first  whack  at  it,  if  you'll  promise 
to  stop  when  I  say  '  Whoa ! '  and  not  let  on  about  it 
afterwards  to  your  Uncle  Henry,  I'll  just  show  you 
a  few  things  that  they  don't  have  out  West,"  and  I 
winks  real  mysterious. 

"  Oh,  will  you  ?  "  says  Bentley.  "  By  ginger !  I'm 
your  man ! " 

So  we  starts  out  lookin'  for  the  menagerie.  It  was 
46 


UP   AGAINST   BENTLEY 

all  I  could  do,  though,  to  keep  my  eyes  off  m  that 
trousseau  of  his. 

"  They  don't  build  clothes  like  them  in  Palopinto, 
do  they  ?  "  says  I. 

"  Oh,  no,"  says  Bentley.  "  I  stopped  off  in  Chicago 
and  got  this  outfit.  I  told  them  I  didn't  care  what  it 
cost,  but  I  wanted  the  latest." 

"  I  guess  you  got  it,"  says  I.  "  That's  what  I'd 
call  a  night  edition,  base  ball  extra.  You  mustn't 
mind  folks  giraffin'  at  you.  They  always  do  that  to 
strangers." 

Bentley  didn't  mind.  Fact  is,  there  wa'n't  much 
that  did  seem  to  faze  him  a  whole  lot.  He'd  never 
rode  in  the  subway  before,  of  course,  but  he  went  to 
readin'  the  soaps  ads  just  as  natural  as  if  he  lived  in 
Harlem.  I  expect  that  was  what  egged  me  on  to 
try  and  get  a  rise  out  of  him.  You  see,  when  they 
come  in  from  the  rutabaga  fields  and  the  wheat 
orchards,  we  want  'em  to  open  their  mouths  and  gawp. 
If  they  do,  we  give  'em  the  laugh;  but  if  they  don't, 
we  feel  like  they  was  throwin'  down  the  place.  So  I 
lays  out  to  astonish  Bentley. 

First  I  steers  him  across  Mulberry  Bend  and  into 
a  Pell-st.  chop  suey  joint  that  wouldn't  be  runnin' 
at  all  if  it  wa'n't  for  the  Sagadahoc  and  Elmira  folks 
the  two  dollar  tourin'  cars  bring  down.  With  all  the 
Chinks  gabblin'  around  outside,  though,  and  the  funny 

47 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

letterin'  on  the  bill  of  fare,  I  thought  that  would  stun 
him  some.  He  just  looked  around  casual,  though, 
and  laid  into  his  suey  and  rice  like  it  was  a  plate  of 
ham-and,  not  even  askin'  if  he  couldn't  buy  a  pair  of 
chopsticks  as  a  souvenir. 

"  There's  a  bunch  of  desperate  characters,"  says  I, 
pointin'  to  a  table  where  a  gang  of  Park  Row  com- 
positors was  blowin'  themselves  to  a  platter  of  chow- 
ghi-sumen. 

"Yes?"  says  he. 

"  There's  Chuck  Connors,  and  Mock  Duck,  and  Bill 
the  Brute,  and  One  Eyed  Mike ! "  I  whispers. 

"  I'm  glad  I  saw  them,"  says  Bentley. 

"  We'll  take  a  sneak  before  the  murderin'  begins," 
say  I.  "  Maybe  you'll  read  about  how  many  was 
killed,  in  the  mornin'  papers." 

"  I'll  look  for  it,"  says  he. 

Say,  it  was  discouragin'.  We  takes  the  L  up  to 
23rd  and  goes  across  and  up  the  east  side  of  Madison 
Square. 

"  There,"  says  I,  pointin'  out  the  Manhattan  Club, 
that's  about  as  lively  as  the  Subtreasury  on  a  Sun- 
day, "  that's  Canfield's  place.  We'd  go  in  and  see  'em 
buck  the  tiger,  only  I  got  a  tip  that  Bingham's  goin' 
to  pull  it  to-night.  That  youngster  in  the  straw  hat 
just  goin'  in  is  Reggie." 

"  Well,  well !  "  says  Bentley. 
48 


UP   AGAINST   BENTLEY 

Oh,  I  sure  did  show  Bentley  a  lot  of  sights  that 
evenin',  includin'  a  wild  tour  through  the  Tenderloin 
— in  a  Broadway  car.  We  winds  up  at  a  roof  garden, 
and,  just  to  give  Bentley  an  extra  shiver,  I  asks  the 
waiter  if  we  wa'n't  sittin'  somewhere  near  the  table 
that  Harry  and  Evelyn  had  the  night  he  was  overcome 
by  emotional  insanity. 

"  You're  at  the  very  one,  sir,"  he  says.  Considerin' 
we  was  ten  blocks  away,  he  was  a  knowin'  waiter. 

"  This  identical  table ;  hear  that,  Bentley  ?  "  says  I. 

"  You  don't  say !  "  says  he. 

"  Let's  have  a  bracer,"  says  I.  "  Ever  drink  a  soda 
cocktail,  Bentley  ?  " 

He  said  he  hadn't. 

"  Then  bring  us  two,  real  stiff  ones,"  says  I.  You 
know  how  they're  made — a  dash  of  bitters,  a  spoonful 
of  bicarbonate,  and  a  bottle  of  club  soda,  all  stirred 
up  in  a  tall  glass,  almost  as  intoxicatin'  as  buttermilk. 

"  Don't  make  your  head  dizzy,  does  it  ?  "  says  I. 

"  A  little,"  says  Bentley ;  "  but  then,  I'm  not  used  to 
mixed  drinks.  We  take  root  beer  generally,  when 
we're  out  on  a  tear." 

"  You  cow  boys  must  be  a  fierce  lot  when  you're 
loose,"  says  I. 

Bentley  grinned,  kind  of  reminiscent.  "  We  do 
raise  the  Old  Harry  once  in  awhile,"  says  he.  "  The 
last  time  we  went  up  to  Dallas  I  drank  three  different 

49 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

kinds  of  soda  water,  and  we  guyed  a  tamale  peddler 
so  that  a  policeman  had  to  speak  to  us." 

Say!  what  do  you  think  of  that?  Wouldn't  that 
freeze  your  blood? 

Once  I  got  him  started,  Bentley  told  me  a  lot  about 
life  on  the  ranch;  how  they  had  to  milk  and  curry 
down  four  thousand  steers  every  night;  and  about 
their  playin'  checkers  at  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  branch  even- 
in's,  and  throwin'  spit  balls  at  each  other  durin'  morn- 
in'  prayers.  I'd  always  thought  these  stage  cow  boys 
was  all  a  pipe  dream,  but  I  never  got  next  to  the  real 
thing  before. 

It  was  mighty  interesting  the  way  he  told  it,  too. 
They  get  prizes  for  bein'  polite  to  each  other  durin' 
work  hourSj  and  medals  for  speakin'  gentle  to  the  cows. 
Bentley  said  he  had  four  of  them  medals,  but  he  hadn't 
worn  'em  East  for  fear  folks  would  think  he  was 
proud.  That  gave  me  a  line  on  where  he  got  his  quiet 
ways  from.  It  was  the  trainin'  he  got  on  the  ranch, 
He  said  it  was  grand,  too,  when  a  crowd  of  the  boys 
came  ridin'  home  from  town,  sometimes  as  late  as 
eleven  o'clock  at  night,  to  hear  'em  singin'  "  Onward, 
Christian  Soldier  "  and  tunes  like  that. 

"  I  expect  you  do  have  a  few  real  tough  citizens  out 
that  way,  though,"  says  I. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  speakin'  sad  and  regretful,  "  once  in 
awhile.  There  was  one  came  up  from  Las  Vegas  last 

50 


UP   AGAINST   BENTLEY 

Spring,  a  low  fellow  that  they  called  Santa  Fe  Bill. 
He  tried  to  start  a  penny  ante  game,  but  we  discour- 
aged him." 

"  Run  him  off  the  reservation,  eh  ?  "  says  I. 

"  No,"  says  Bentley,  "  we  made  him  give  up  his 
ticket  to  our  annual  Sunday  school  picnic.  He  was 
never  the  same  after  that." 

Well,  say,  I  had  it  on  the  card  to  blow  Bentley  to 
a  Welsh  rabbit  after  the  show,  at  some  place  where 
he  could  get  a  squint  at  a  bunch  of  our  night  bloom- 
in'  summer  girls,  but  I  changed  the  program.  I  took 
him  away  durin'  intermission,  in  time  to  dodge  the 
new  dancer  that  Broadway  was  tryin'  hard  to  be 
'  shocked  by,  and  after  we'd  had  a  plate  of  ice  cream  in 
one  of  them  celluloid  papered  all-nights,  I  led  Bentley 
back  to  the  hotel  and  tipped  a  bell  hop  a  quarter  to 
tuck  him  in  bed. 

Somehow,  I  didn't  feel  just  right  about  the  way  I'd 
been  stringin'  Bentley.  I  hadn't  started  out  to  do  it, 
either ;  but  he  took  things  in  so  easy,  and  was  so  will- 
in'  to  stand  for  anything,  that  I  couldn't  keep  from  it. 
And  it  did  seem  a  shame  that  he  must  go  back  with- 
out any  tall  yarns  to  spring.  Honest,  I  was  so  twisted 
up  in  my  mind,  thinkin'  about  Bentley,  that  I  couldn't 
go  to  sleep,  so  I  sat  out  on  the  front  steps  of  the  board- 
in'  house  for  a  couple  of  hours,  chewin'  it  all  over.  I 
was  just  thinkin'  of  telephonin'  to  the  hotel  chaplain  to 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

call  on  Bentley  in  the  mornin',  when  me  friend  Barney, 
the  rounds,  comes  along. 

**  Say,  Shorty,"  says  he,  "  didn't  I  see  you  driftin' 
around  town  earlier  in  the  evenin'  with  a  young  sport 
in  mornin'  glory  clothes  ?  " 

"  He  was  no  sport,"  says  I.  "  That  was  Bentley. 
He's  a  Y.  M.  C.  A.  lad  in  disguise." 

"  It's  a  grand  disguise,"  says  Barney.  "  Your  quiet 
friend  is  sure  livin'  up  to  them  clothes." 

"  You're  kiddin',"  says  I.  "  It  would  take  a  live  one 
to  do  credit  to  that  harness.  When  I  left  Bentley  at 
half-past  ten  he  was  in  the  elevator  on  his  way  up  to 
bed." 

"  I  don't  want  to  meet  any  that's  more  alive  than 
your  Bentley,"  says  he.  "  There  must  have  been  a  hole 
in  the  roof.  Anyway,  he  shows  up  on  my  beat  about 
eleven,  picks  out  a  swell  cafe,  butts  into  a  party  of 
soubrettes,  flashes  a  thousand  dollar  bill,  and  begins  to 
buy  wine  for  everyone  in  sight.  Inside  of  half  an 
hour  he  has  one  of  his  new  made  lady  friends  doin'  a 
high  kickin'  act  on  the  table,  and  when  the  manager 
interferes  Bentley  licks  two  waiters  to  a  standstill  and 
does  up  the  house  detective  with  a  chair.  Why,  I  has 
to  get  two  of  my  men  to  help  me  gather  him  in.  You 
can  find  him  restin'  around  to  the  station  house  now." 

"  Barney,"  says  I,  "  you  must  be  gettin'  colour  blind. 
That  can't  be  Bentley." 

52 


UP   AGAINST   BENTLEY 

"  You  go  around  and  take  a  look  at  him,"  says  he. 

Well,  just  to  satisfy  Barney,  I  did.  And  say,  it 
was  Bentley,  all  right!  He  was  some  mussed,  but 
calm  and  contented. 

"  Bentley,"  says  I,  reprovin'  like,  "  you're  a  bird, 
you  are!  How  did  it  happen?  Did  some  one  drug 
you?" 

"  Guess  that  ice  cream  must  have  gone  to  my  head," 
says  he,  grinnin'. 

"  Come  off !  "  says  I.  "  I've  had  a  report  on  you, 
and  from  what  you've  got  aboard  you  ought  to  be  as 
full  as  a  goat." 

He  wa'n't,  though.  He  was  as  sober  as  me,  and  that 
after  absorbin'  a  quart  or  so  of  French  foam. 

"  If  I  can  fix  it  so's  to  get  you  out  on  bail,"  says  I, 
"will  you  quit  this  red  paint  business  and  be  good?" 

"  G'wan !  "  says  he.  "  I'd  rather  stay  here  than  go 
around  with  you  any  more.  You  put  me  asleep,  you 
do,  and  I  can  get  all  the  sleep  I  want  without  a  guide. 
Chase  yourself ! " 

I  was  some  sore  on  Bentley  by  that  time ;  but  I  went 
to  court  the  next  mornin',  when  he  paid  his  fine  and 
was  turned  adrift.  I  starts  in  with  some  good  advice, 
but  Bentley  shuts  me  off  quick. 

"  Cut  it  out ! "  says  he.  "  New  York  may  seem 
like  a  hot  place  to  Rubes  like  you ;  but  you  can  take  it 
from  me  that,  for  a  pure  joy  producer,  Palopinto  has 

53 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

got  it  burned  to  a  blister.  Why,  there's  more  doing 
on  some  of  our  back  streets  than  you  can  show  up  on 
the  whole  length  of  Broadway.  No  more  for  me! 
I'm  goin'  back  where  I  can  spend  my  money  and  have 
my  fun  without  bein'  stopped  and  asked  to  settle  before 
I've  hardly  got  started." 

He  was  dead  in  earnest,  too.  He'd  got  on  a  train 
headed  West  before  I  comes  out  of  my  dream.  Then 
I  begins  to  see  a  light.  It  was  a  good  deal  of  a  shock 
to  me  when  it  did  come,  but  I  has  to  own  up  that 
Bentley  was  a  ringer.  All  that  talk  about  mornin' 
prayers  and  Sunday  school  picnics  was  just  dope,  and 
while  I  was  so  busy  dealin'  out  josh  to  him,  he  was 
handin'  me  the  lemon. 

My  mouth  was  still  puckered  and  my  teeth  on  edge, 
when  Mr.  Gordon  gets  me  on  the  'phone  and  wants  to 
know  how  about  Bentley. 

"  He's  come  and  gone,"  says  I. 

"  So  soon  ?  "  says  he.  "  I  hope  New  York  wasn't 
too  much  for  him." 

"  Not  at  all,"  says  I ;  "he  was  too  much  for  New 
York.  But  while  you  was  givin'  him  instructions,  why 
didn't  you  tell  him  to  make  a  noise  like  a  hornet  ?  It 
might  have  saved  me  from  bein'  stung." 

Texas,  eh?  Well,  say,  next  time  I  sees  a  map  of 
that  State  I'm  goin'  to  hunt  up  Palopinto  and  draw  a 
ring  around  it  with  purple  ink. 

54 


IV 


WHAT  I  was  after  was  a  souse  in  the  Sound;  but 
say,  I  never  know  just  what's  goin'  to  happen  to  me 
when  I  gets  to  roamin'  around  Westchester  County ! 

I'd  started  out  from  Primrose  Park  to  hoof  it  over 
to  a  little  beach  a  ways  down  shore,  when  along  comes 
Dominick  with  his  blue  dump  cart.  Now,  Dominick's 
a  friend  of  mine,  and  for  a  foreigner  he's  the  most 
entertainin'  cuss  I  ever  met.  I  like  talkin'  with  him. 
He  can  make  the  English  language  sound  more  like  a 
lullaby  than  most  of  your  high  priced  opera  singers; 
and  as  for  bein'  cheerful,  why,  he's  got  a  pair  of  eyes 
like  sunny  days. 

Course,  he  wears  rings  in  his  ears,  and  likely  a  seven 
inch  knife  down  the  back  of  his  neck.  He  ain't  per- 
fumed with  violets  either,  when  you  get  right  close 
to;  but  the  ash  collectin'  business  don't  call  for  peau 
d'Espagne,  does  it? 

"Hallo!"  says  Dominick.     "You  lika  ride?" 

Well,  I  can't  say  I'm  stuck  on  bein'  bounced  around 
in  an  ash  chariot ;  but  I  knew  Dominick  meant  well,  so 
in  I  gets.  We'd  been  joltin'  along  for  about  four 

55 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

blocks,  swappin'  pigeon  toed  conversation,  when  there 
shows  up  on  the  road  behind  us  the  fanciest  rig  I've 
seen  outside  of  a  circus.  In  front,  hitched  up  tandem, 
was  a  couple  of  black  and  white  patchwork  ponies  that 
looked  like  they'd  broke  out  of  a  sportin'  print.  Say, 
with  their  shiny  hoofs  and  yeller  harness,  it  almost 
made  your  eyes  ache  to  look  at  'em.  But  the  buggy 
was  part  of  the  picture,  too.  It  was  the  dizziest  ever 
— just  a  couple  of  upholstered  settees,  balanced  back 
to  back  on  a  pair  of  rubber  tired  wheels,  with  the  whole 
shootin'  match,  cushions  and  all,  a  blazin'  turkey  red. 

On  the  nigh  side  was  a  coachman,  with  his  bandy 
legs  cased  in  white  pants  and  yeller  topped  boots ;  and 
on  the  other — well,  say !  you  talk  about  your  polka  dot 
symphonies !  Them  spots  was  as  big  as  quarters,  and 
those  in  the  parasol  matched  the  ones  in  her  dress. 

I'd  been  gawpin'  at  the  outfit  a  couple  of  minutes 
before  I  could  see  anything  but  the  dots,  and  then  all 
of  a  sudden  I  tumbles  that  it's  Sadie.  She  finds  me 
about  the  same  time,  and  jabs  her  sun  shade  into  the 
small  of  the  driver's  back,  to  make  him  pull  up.  I 
tells  Dominick  to  haul  in,  too,  but  his  old  skate  is  on 
his  hind  legs,  with  his  ears  pointed  front,  wakin'  up  for 
the  first  time  in  five  years,  so  I  has  to  drop  out  over  the 
tail  board. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  the  rig?  "  says  Sadie. 

"  I  guess  me  and  Dominick's  old  crow  bait  has  about 
56 


THE    TORTONIS'   STAR   ACT 

the  same  thoughts  along  that  line,"  says  I.  "  Can 
you  blame  us  ?  " 

"  It  is  rather  giddy,  isn't  it  ?  "  says  she. 

"  'Most  gave  me  the  blind  staggers,"  says  I.  "  You 
ought  to  distribute  smoked  glasses  along  the  route  of 
procession.  Did  you  buy  it  some  dark  night,  or  was 
it  made  to  order  after  somethin'  you  saw  in  a 
dream  ?  " 

"  The  idea !  "  says  Sadie.  "  This  jaunting  car  is 
one  I  had  sent  over  from  Paris,  to  help  my  ponies 
get  a  blue  ribbon  at  the  Hill'n'dale  horse  show.  And 
that's  what  it  did,  too." 

"  Blue  ribbon !  "  says  I.  "  The  judges  must  have 
been  colour  blind." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  says  Sadie,  stickin'  her  tongue 
out  at  me.  "  After  that  I've  a  good  notion  to  make 
you  walk." 

"  I  don't  know  as  I'd  have  nerve  enough  to  ride 
in  that,  anyway,"  says  I.  "  Is  it  a  funeral  you're 
goin'  to?" 

"  Next  thing  to  it,"  says  she.  "  But  come  on, 
Shorty ;  get  aboard  and  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it." 

So  I  steps  up  alongside  the  spotted  silk,  and  the 
driver  lets  the  ponies  loose.  Say,  it  was  like  ridin' 
sideways  in  a  roller  coaster. 

Sadie  said  she  was  awful  glad  to  see  me  just  then. 
She  had  a  job  on  hand  that  she  hated  to  do,  and  she 

57 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

needed  some  one  to  stand  in  her  corner  and  cheer  her 
up  while  she  tackled  it.  Seems  she'd  got  rash  a  few 
days  before  and  made  a  promise  to  lug  the  Duke  and 
Duchess  of  Kildee  over  to  call  on  the  Wigghorns. 
Sadie'd  been  actin'  as  sort  of  advance  agent  for  Their 
Dukelets  durin'  their  splurge  over  here,  and  Mrs. 
Wigghorn  had  mesmerised  her  into  makin'  a  date  for 
a  call.  This  was  the  day. 

It  would  have  gone  through  all  right  if  some  one 
hadn't  put  the  Duke  wise  to  what  he  was  up  against. 
Maybe  you  know  about  the  Wigghorns?  Course, 
they've  got  the  goods,  for  about  a  dozen  years  ago 
old  Wigghorn  choked  a  car  patent  out  of  some  poor 
inventor,  and  his  bank  account's  been  pyramidin'  so 
fast  ever  since  that  now  he's  in  the  eight  figure  class ; 
but  when  it  comes  to  bein'  in  the  monkey  dinner 
crowd,  they  ain't  even  counted  as  near-silks. 

"  Why,"  says  Sadie,  "  I've  heard  that  they  have 
their  champagne  standing  in  rows  on  the  sideboard, 
and  that  they  serve  charlotte  russe  for  breakfast ! " 

"  That's  an  awful  thing  to  repeat,"  says  I. 

"  Oh,  well,"  says  she,  "  Mrs.  Wigghorn's  a  good 
natured  soul,  and  I  do  think  the  Duke  might  have 
stood  her  for  an  afternoon.  He  wouldn't  though,  and 
now  I've  got  to  go  there  and  call  it  off,  just  as  she's 
got  herself  into  her  diamond  stomacher,  probably,  to 
receive  them." 

58 


THE   TORTONIS'   STAR    ACT 

"  You  couldn't  ring  in  a  couple  of  subs  ?  "  says  I. 

For  a  minute  Sadie's  blue  eyes  lights  up  like  I'd 
passed  her  a  plate  of  peach  ice  cream.  "  If  I  only 
could !  "  says  she.  Then  she  shakes  her  head.  "  No," 
she  says,  "  I  should  hate  to  lie.  And,  anyway,  there's 
no  one  within  reach  who  could  play  their  parts." 

"  That  bein'  the  case,"  says  I,  "  it  looks  like  you'd 
have  to  go  ahead  and  break  the  sad  news.  What  do 
you  want  me  to  do — hold  a  bucket  for  the  tears  ?  " 

Sadie  said  all  she  expected  of  me  was  to  help  her 
forget  it  afterwards ;  so  we  rolls  along  towards  Wigg- 
horn  Arms.  We'd  got  within  a  mile  of  there  when 
we  meets  a  Greek  peddler  with  a  bunch  of  toy  balloons 
on  his  shoulder,  and  in  less'n  no  time  at  all  them 
crazy-quilt  ponies  was  tryin'  to  do  back  somersaults 
and  other  fool  stunts.  In  the  mix  up  one  of  'em  rips 
a  shoe  almost  off,  and  Mr.  Coachman  says  he'll  have 
to  chase  back  to  a  blacksmith  shop  and  have  it  glued 
on. 

"  Oh,  bother !  "  says  Sadie.  "  Well,  hurry  up  about 
it.  We'll  walk  along  as  far  as  Apawattuck  Inn  and 
wait  there." 

It  wa'n't  much  of  a  walk.  The  Apawattuck's  a 
place  where  they  deal  out  imitation  shore  dinners  to 
trolley  excursionists,  and  fusel  oil  high  balls  to  the 
bubble  trade.  The  name  sounds  well  enough,  but  that 
ain't  satisfyin'  when  you're  real  hungry.  We  were 

59 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

only  killin'  time,  though,  so  it  didn't  matter.  We 
strolled  up  just  as  fearless  as  though  their  clam  chow- 
ders was  fit  to  eat. 

And  that's  what  fetched  us  up  against  the  Tortonis. 
They  was  well  placed,  at  a  corner  veranda  table  where 
no  one  could  miss  seein'  'em;  and,  as  they'd  just 
finished  a  plate  of  chicken  salad  and  a  pint  of  genuine 
San  Jose  claret,  they  was  lookin'  real  comfortable  and 
elegant. 

Say,  to  see  the  droop  eyed  way  they  sized  us  up 
as  we  makes  our  entry,  you'd  think  they  was  so  tired 
doin'  that  sort  of  thing  that  life  was  hardly  worth 
while.  You'd  never  guess  they'd  been  livin'  in  a  hall 
bed  room  on  crackers  and  bologna  ever  since  the  sea- 
son closed,  and  that  this  was  their  first  real  feed  of 
the  summer,  on  the  strength  of  just  havin'  been  booked 
for  fifty  performances.  He  was  wearin'  one  of  them 
torrid  suits  you  see  in  Max  Blumstein's  show  window, 
with  a  rainbow  band  on  his  straw  pancake,  and  one  of 
these  flannel  collar  shirts  that  you  button  under  the 
chin  with  a  brass  safety  pin.  She  was  sportin'  a  Peter 
Pan  peekaboo  that  would  have  made  Comstock  gasp. 
And  neither  of  'em  had  seen  a  pay  day  for  the  last  two 
months. 

But  it  was  done  good,  though.  They  had  the  tray 
jugglers  standin'  around  respectful,  and  the  other 
guests  wonderin'  how  two  such  real  House  of  Mirthers 

60 


THE    TORTONIS'   STAR   ACT 

should  happen  to  stray  in  where  the  best  dishes  on 
the  card  wa'n't  more'n  sixty  cents  a  double  portion. 

Course,  I  ain't  never  been  real  chummy  with  Tor- 
toni — his  boardin'  house  name's  Skinny  Welch,  you 
know — but  I've  seen  him  knockin'  around  the  Rialto 
off 'n  on  for  years ;  so,  as  I  goes  by  to  the  next  table,  I 
lifts  my  lid  and  says,  "Hello,  Skin.  How  goes  it?" 
Say,  wa'n't  that  friendly  enough?  But  what  kind  of 
a  come  back  do  I  get?  He  just  humps  his  eyebrows, 
as  much  as  to  say,  "  How  bold  some  of  these  common 
folks  is  gettin'  to  be !  "  and  then  turns  the  other  way. 
Sadie  and  I  look  at  each  other  and  swap  grins. 

"  What  happened  ?  "  says  she. 

"  I  had  a  fifteen  cent  lump  of  Hygeia  passed  to  me," 
says  I.  "  And  with  the  ice  trust  still  on  top,  I  calls 
it  extravagant." 

"  Who  are  the  personages  ?  "  says  she. 

"  Well,  the  last  reports  I  had  of  'em,"  says  I,  "  they 
were  the  Tortonis,  waitin'  to  do  a  parlour  sketch  on 
the  bargain  day  matinee  circuit;  but  from  the  looks 
now  I  guesses  they're  travellin'  incog — for  the  after- 
noon, anyway." 

"  How  lovely !  "  says  Sadie. 

Our  seltzer  lemonades  come  along  just  then,  so  there 
was  business  with  the  straws.  I'd  just  fished  out  the 
last  piece  of  pineapple  when  Jeems  shows  up  on  the 
drive  with  the  spotted  ponies  and  that  side  saddle  cart. 

61 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

I  gave  Sadie  the  nudge  to  look  at  the  Tortonis.  They 
had  their  eyes  glued  to  that  outfit,  like  a  couple  of  Hes- 
ter-st.  kids  lookin'  at  a  hoky  poky  waggon. 

And  it  wa'n't  no  common  "  Oh,  I  wish  I  could 
swipe  that  "  look,  either.  It  was  a  heap  deeper'n  that. 
The  whole  get  up,  from  the  red  wheels  to  the  silver 
rosettes,  must  have  hit  'em  hard,  for  they  held  their 
breath  most  a  minute,  and  never  moved.  The  girl  was 
the  first  to  break  away.  She  turns  her  face  out  to- 
wards the  Sound  and  sighs.  Say,  it  must  be  tough  to 
have  ambitions  like  that,  and  never  get  nearer  to  'em 
than  now  and  then  a  ten  block  hansom  ride. 

About  then  Jeems  catches  Sadie's  eye,  and  salutes 
with  the  whip. 

"  Did  you  get  it  fixed  ?  "  says  she. 

He  says  it's  all  done  like  new. 

Signor  Tortoni  hadn't  been  losin'  a  look  nor  a  word, 
and  the  minute  he  ties  us  up  to  them  speckled  ponies 
he  maps  out  a  change  of  act.  Before  I  could  call  the 
waiter  and  get  my  change,  Tortoni  was  right  on  the 
ground. 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  says  he,  "  but  isn't  this  my  old 
friend,  Professor  McCabe?" 

"  You've  sure  got  a  comin'  memory,  Skinny," 
says  I. 

"  Why ! "  says  he,  gettin'  a  grip  on  my  paw,  "  how 
stupid  of  me !  Really,  professor,  you've  grown  so  dis- 

62 


THE   TORTONIS'   STAR    ACT 

tinguished  looking  that  I  didn't  place  you  at  all.  Why, 
this  is  a  great  pleasure,  a  very  great  pleasure,  in- 
deed!" 

"  Ye-e-es  ?  "  says  I. 

But  say,  I  couldn't  rub  it  in.  He  was  so  dead 
anxious  to  connect  himself  with  that  red  cart  before 
the  crowd  that  I  just  let  him  spiel  away.  Inside  of 
two  minutes  the  honours  had  been  done  all  around,  and 
Sadie  was  bein'  as  nice  to  the  girl  as  she  knew  how. 
And  Sadie  knows,  though!  She'd  heard  that  sigh, 
Sadie  had;  and  it  didn't  jar  me  a  bit  when  she  gives 
them  the  invite  to  take  a  little  drive  down  the  road 
with  us. 

Well,  it  was  worth  the  money,  just  to  watch  Skinny 
judgin'  up  the  house  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye. 
I'll  bet  there  wa'n't  one  in  the  audience  that  he  didn't 
know  just  how  much  of  it  they  was  takin'  in ;  and  by 
the  easy  way  he  leaned  across  the  seat  back  and 
chinned  to  Sadie,  as  we  got  started,  you'd  thought  he'd 
been  brought  up  in  one  of  them  carts.  The  madam 
wa'n't  any  in  the  rear,  either.  She  was  just  as  much 
to  home  as  if  she'd  been  usin'  up  a  green  transfer 
across  34th.  If  the  style  was  new  to  her,  or  the 
motion  gave  her  a  tingly  feelin'  down  her  back,  she 
never  mentioned  it. 

They  did  lose  their  breath  a  few,  though,  when  we 
struck  Wigghorn  Arms.  It's  a  whackin'  big  place,  all 

63 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

fenced  in  with  fancy  iron  work  and  curlicue  gates 
fourteen  feet  high. 

"  I've  just  got  to  run  in  a  minute  and  say  a  word  to 
Mrs.  Wigghorn,"  says  Sadie.  "  I  hope  you  don't  mind 
waiting?  " 

Oh  no,  they  didn't.  They  said  so  in  chorus,  and  as 
we  looped  the  loop  through  the  shrubbery  and  began 
to  get  glimpses  of  window  awnings  and  tiled  roof,  I 
could  tell  by  the  way  they  acted  that  they'd  just  as 
soon  wait  inside  as  not. 

Mrs.  Wigghorn  wasn't  takin'  any  chances  on  havin' 
Their  Dukelets  drive  up;  leave  their  cards,  and  skidoo. 
She  was  right  out  front  holdin'  down  a  big  porch 
rocker,  with  her  eyes  peeled  up  the  drive.  And  she 
was  costumed  for  the  part.  I  don't  know  just  what 
it  was  she  had  on,  but  I've  seen  plush  parlour  suits 
covered  with  stuff  like  that.  She's  a  sizable  old  girl 
anyway,  but  in  that  rig,  and  with  her  store  hair  puffed 
out,  she  loomed  up  like  a  bale  of  hay  in  a  door. 

"  Why,  how  do  you  do !  "  she  squeals,  makin'  a 
swoop  at  Sadie  as  soon  as  the  wheels  stopped  turnin', 
"  And  you  did  bring  them  along,  didn't  you  ?  Now 
don't  say  a  word  until  I  get  Peter — he's  just  gone  in 
to  brush  the  cigar  ashes  off  his  vest.  We  want  to  be 
presented  to  the  Duke  and  Duchess  together,  you 
know.  Peter !  Pe-ter !  "  she  shouts,  and  in  through 
the  front  door  she  waddles,  yellin'  for  the  old  man. 

64 


THE   TORTONIS'   STAR   ACT 

And  say,  just  by  the  look  Sadie  gave  me  I  knew 
what  was  runnin'  through  her  head. 

"  Shorty,"  says  she,  "  I've  a  mind  to  do  it." 

"  Flag  it,"  says.     "  You  ain't  got  time." 

But  there  was  no  stoppin'  her.  "  Listen,"  says  she 
to  the  Tortonis.  "  Can't  you  play  Duke  and  Duchess 
of  Kildee  for  an  hour  or  so?" 

"  What  are  the  lines  ?  "  says  Skinny. 

"  You've  got  to  improvise  as  you  go  along,"  says  she. 
"Can  you  do  it?" 

"  It's  a  pipe  for  me,"  says  he.  "  Flossy,  do  you 
come  in  on  it?  " 

Did  she?  Why,  Flossy  was  diggin'  up  her  English 
accent  while  he  was  askin'  the  question,  and  by  the 
time  Mrs.  Wigghorn  got  back,  draggin'  Peter  by  the 
lapel  of  his  dress  coat,  the  Tortonis  was  fairly  oozin' 
aristocracy.  It  was  "  Chawmed,  don'tcher  know !  " 
and  "  My  word !  "  right  along  from  the  drop  of  the 
hat. 

I  didn't  follow  'em  inside,  and  was  just  as  glad  I 
didn't  have  to.  Sittin'  out  there,  expectin'  to  hear 
the  lid  blow  off,  made  me  nervous  enough.  I  wasn't 
afraid  either  of  'em  would  go  shy  on  front;  but 
when  I  remembered  Flossy 's  pencilled  eyebrows,  and 
Skinny's  flannel  collar,  I  says  to  myself,  "  That'll  queer 
'em  as  soon  as  they  get  in  a  good  light  and  there's  time 
for  the  details  to  soak  in."  And  I  didn't  know  what 

65 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

kind  of  trouble  the  Wigghorns  might  stir  up  for  Sadie, 
when  they  found  out  how  bad  they'd  been  toasted. 

It  was  half  an  hour  before  Sadie  showed  up  again, 
and  she  was  lookin'  merry. 

"  What  have  they  done  with  'em,"  says  I — "  dropped 
'em  down  the  well  ?  " 

Sadie  snickered  as  she  climbed  in  and  told  Jeems  to 
whip  up  the  team.  "  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wigghorn,"  says 
she,  "  have  persuaded  the  Duke  and  Duchess  to  spend 
the  week's  end  at  Wigghorn  Arms." 

"Gee!"  says  I.  "Can  they  run  the  bluff  that 
long?" 

"  It's  running  itself,"  says  Sadie.  "  The  Wigg- 
horns are  so  overcome  with  the  honour  that  they  hardly 
know  whether  they're  afoot  or  horseback ;  and  as  for 
your  friends,  they're  more  British  than  the  real  articles 
ever  thought  of  being.  I  stayed  until  they'd  looked 
through  the  suite  of  rooms  they're  to  occupy,  and  when 
I  left  they  were  being  towed  out  to  the  garage  to  pick 
out  a  touring  car  that  suited  them.  They  seemed  al- 
ready to  be  bored  to  death,  too." 

"  Good !  "  say  I.  "  Now  maybe  you'll  take  me  over 
to  the  beach  and  let  me  get  in  a  quarter's  worth  of 
swim." 

"Can't  you  put  it  off,  Shorty?"  says  she.  "I 
want  you  to  take  the  next  train  into  town  and  do  an 
errand  for  me.  Go  to  the  landlady  at  this  number, 

56 


THE   TORTONIS'  STAR    ACT 

East  I5th-st.,  and  tell  her  to  send  Mr.  Tortoni's  trunk 
by  express." 

Well,  I  did  it.  It  took  a  ten  to  make  the  landlady 
loosen  up  on  the  wardrobe,  too;  but  considerin'  the 
solid  joy  I've  had,  thinkin'  about  Skinny  and  Flossy 
eatin'  charlotte  russe  for  breakfast,  and  all  that,  I  guess 
I'm  gettin'  a  lot  for  my  money.  It  ain't  every  day 
you  have  a  chance  to  elevate  a  vaudeville  team  to  the 
peerage. 


PUTTING   PINCKNEY   ON   THE  JOB 

WELL,  say,  this  is  where  we  mark  up  one  on  Pinck- 
ney.  And  it's  time  too,  for  he's  done  the  grin  act  at 
me  so  often  he  was  comin'  to  think  I  was  gettin'  into 
the  Slivers  class.  You  know  about  Pinckney.  He's 
the  bubble  on  top  of  the  glass,  the  snapper  on  the  whip 
lash,  the  sunny  spot  at  the  club.  He's  about  as  serious 
as  a  kitten  playin'  with  a  string,  and  the  cares  on  his 
mind  weigh  'most  as  heavy  as  an  extra  rooster  feather 
on  a  spring  bonnet. 

That's  what  comes  of  havin'  a  self  raisin'  income,  a 
small  list  of  relatives,  and  a  moderate  thirst.  If  any- 
thing bobs  up  that  needs  to  be  worried  over — like 
whether  he's  got  vests  enough  to  last  through  a  little 
trip  to  London  and  back,  or  whether  he's  doubled  up 
on  his  dates — why,  he  just  tells  his  man  about  it,  and 
then  forgets.  For  a  trouble  dodger  he's  got  the  little 
birds  in  the  trees  carryin'  weight.  Pinckney's  liable  to 
show  up  at  the  Studio  here  every  day  for  a  week,  and 
then  again  I  won't  get  a  glimpse  of  him  for  a  month. 
It's  always  safe  to  expect  him  when  you  see  him,  and 
it's  a  waste  of  time  wonderin'  what  he'll  be  up  to  next. 
But  one  of  the  things  I  likes  most  about  Pinckney  is 

68 


PUTTING     PINCKNEY    ON    THE   JOB 

that  he  ain't  livin'  yesterday  or  to-morrow.  It's  al- 
ways this  A.  M.  with  him,  and  the  rest  of  the  calendar 
takes  care  of  itself. 

So  I  wa'n't  any  surprised,  as  I  was  dom'  a  few 
laps  on  the  avenue  awhile  back,  to  hear  him  give  me 
the  hail. 

"  Oh,  I  say,  Shorty ! "  says  he,  wavin'  his  stick. 
"  Got  anything  on  ?  " 

"  Nothin'  but  my  clothes,"  says  I. 

"  Good !  "  says  he.     "  Come  with  me,  then." 

"  Sure  you  know  where  you're  goin'  ?  "  says  I. 

Oh,  yes,  he  was — almost.  It  was  some  pier  or  other 
he  was  headed  for,  and  he  has  the  number  wrote  down 
on  a  card — if  he  could  find  the  card.  By  luck  he  digs 
it  up  out  of  his  cigarette  case,  where  his  man  has  put 
it  on  purpose,  and  then  he  proceeds  to  whistle  up  a 
cab.  Say,  if  it  wa'n't  for  them  cabbies,  I  reckon 
Pinckney  would  take  root  somewhere. 

"  Meetin'  some  one,  or  seein'  'em  off  ?  "  says  I,  as 
we  climbs  in. 

"  Hanged  if  I  know  yet,"  says  Pinckney. 

"  Maybe  it's  you  that's  goin'  ?  "  says  I. 

"Oh,  no,"  says  he.  "That  is,  I  hadn't  planned 
to,  you  know.  And  come  to  think  of  it,  I  believe  I 
am  to  meet — er — Jack  and  Jill." 

"  Names  sound  kind  of  familiar,"  says  I.  "  What's 
the  breed?" 

69 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

"  What  would  be  your  guess  ?  "  says  he. 

"  A  pair  of  spotted  ponies,"  says  I. 

"  By  Jove !  "  says  he,  "  I  hadn't  thought  of  ponies." 

"  Say,"  says  I,  sizin'  him  up  to  see  if  he  was  hand- 
in'  me  a  josh,  "  you  don't  mean  to  give  out  that  you're 
lookin'  for  a  brace  of  something  to  come  in  on  the 
steamer,  and  don't  know  whether  they'll  be  tame  or 
wild,  long  haired  or  short,  crated  or  live  stock  ?  " 

"  Live  stock !  "  says  he,  beamin'.  "  That's  exactly 
the  word  I  have  been  trying  to  think  of.  That's  what 
I  shall  ask  for.  Thanks,  awfully,  Shorty,  for  the 
hint" 

"  You're  welcome,"  says  I.  "  It  looks  like  you  need 
all  the  help  along  that  line  you  can  get.  Do  you  re- 
member if  this  pair  was  somethin'  you  sent  for,  or  is 
it  a  birthday  surprise  ?  " 

With  that  he  unloads  as  much  of  the  tale  as  he's 
accumulated  up  to  date.  Seems  he'd  just  got  a  cable- 
gram from  some  firm  in  London  that  signs  themselves 
Tootle,  Tupper  &  Tootle,  sayin'  that  Jack  and  Jill 
would  be  on  the  Lucania,  as  per  letter. 

"  And  then  you  lost  the  letter  ?  "  says  I. 

No,  he  hadn't  lost  it,  not  that  he  knew  of.  He 
supposes  that  it's  with  the  rest  of  last  week's  mail, 
that  he  hasn't  looked  over  yet.  The  trouble  was  he'd 
been  out  of  town,  and  hadn't  been  back  more'n  a  day 
or  so — and  he  could  read  letters  when  there  wa'n't 

70 


PUTTING    PINCKNEY   ON   THE   JOB 

anything  else  to  do.  That's  Pinckney,  from  the 
ground  up. 

"  Why  not  go  back  and  get  the  letter  now  ?  "  says  I. 
"  Then  you'll  know  all  about  Jack  and  Jill." 

"  Oh,  bother !  "  says  he.  "  That  would  spoil  all  the 
fun.  Let's  see  what  they're  like  first,  and  read  about 
them  afterwards." 

"  If  it  suits  you,"  says  I,  "  it's  all  the  same  to  me. 
Only  you  won't  know  whether  to  send  for  a  hostler 
or  an  animal  trainer." 

"  Perhaps  I'd  better  engage  both,"  says  Pinckney. 

If  they'd  been  handy,  he  would  have,  too;  but  they 
wa'n't,  so  down  we  sails  to  the  pier,  where  the  folks 
was  comin'  ashore. 

First  thing  Pinckney  spies  after  we  has  rushed  the 
gangplank  is  a  gent  with  a  healthy  growth  of  under- 
brush on  his  face  and  a  lot  of  gold  on  his  sleeves. 
By  the  way  they  got  together,  I  see  that  they  was  old 
friends. 

"  I  hear  you  have  something  on  board  consigned  to 
me,  Captain  ?  "  says  Pinckney.  "  Something  in  the 
way  of  live  stock,  eh?"  and  he  pokes  Cap  in  the  ribs 
with  his  cane. 

"  Right  you  are,"  says  Cappie,  chucklin'  through  his 
whiskers.  "  And  the  liveliest  kind  of  live  stock  we 
ever  carried,  sir." 

Pinckney  gives  me  the  nudge,  as  much  as  to  say 
71 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

he'd  struck  it  first  crack,  and  then  he  remarks,  "  Ah ! 
And  where  are  they  now?  " 

"  Why,"  says  the  Cap,  "  they  were  cruising  around 
the  promenade  deck  a  minute  ago;  but,  Lor'  bless 
jou,  sir !  there's  no  telling  where  they  are  now — up  on 
the  bridge,  or  down  in  the  boiler  room.  They're  a 
pair  of  colts,  those  two." 

"  Colts ! "  says  Pinckney,  gaspin'.  "  You  mean 
ponies,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Well,  well,  ponies  or  colts,  it's  all  one.  They're 
lively  enough  for  either,  and —  Heigho !  Here  they 
come,  the  rascals !  " 

There's  whoop  and  a  scamper,  and  along  the  deck 
rushes  a  couple  of  six-  or  seven-year  old  youngsters, 
that  makes  a  dive  for  the  Cap'n,  catches  him  around 
either  leg,  and  almost  upsets  him.  They  was  twins, 
and  it  didn't  need  the  kilt  suits  just  alike  and  the  hair 
boxed  just  the  same  to  show  it,  either.  They  couldn't 
have  been  better  matched  if  they'd  been  a  pair  of  socks, 
and  the  faces  of  'em  was  all  grins  and  mischief.  Say,, 
anyone  with  a  heart  in  him  couldn't  help  takin'  to 
kids  like  that,  providin'  they  didn't  take  to  him 
first. 

"  Here  you  are,  sir,"  says  the  Cap'n, — "  here's  your 
Jack  and  Jill,  and  I  wish  you  luck  with  them.  It'll  be 
a  good  month  before  I  can  get  back  discipline  aboard ; 
but  I'm  glad  I  had  the  bringing  of  'em  over.  Here 

72 


PUTTING     PINCKNEY   ON   THE   JOB 

you  are,  you  holy  terrors, — here's  the  Uncle  Pinckney 
you've  been  howling  for !  " 

At  that  they  let  loose  of  the  Cap,  gives  a  war- 
whoop  in  chorus,  and  lands  on  Pinckney  with  a  reg'lar 
flyin'  tackle,  both  talkin'  to  once.  Well  say,  he  didn't 
know  whether  to  holler  for  help  or  laugh.  He  just 
stands  there  and  looks  foolish,  while  one  of  'em 
shins  up  and  gets  an  overhand  holt  on  his  lilac 
necktie. 

About  then  I  notices  some  one  bearin'  down  on 
us  from  the  other  side  of  the  deck.  She  was  one  of 
these  tall,  straight,  deep  chested,  wide  eyed  girls,  built 
like  the  Goddess  of  Liberty,  and  with  cheeks  like  a 
bunch  of  sweet  peas.  Say,  she  was  all  right,  she  was ; 
and  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  Paris  clothes  she  was 
wearin'  home  I  could  have  made  a  guess  whether  she 
come  from  Denver,  or  Dallas,  or  St.  Paul.  Anyway, 
we  don't  raise  many  of  that  kind  in  New  York.  She 
has  her  eyes  on  the  youngsters. 

"  Good-bye,  Jack  and  Jill,"  says  she,  wavin'  her  hand 
at  'em. 

But  nobody  gets  past  them  kids  as  easy  as  that. 
They  yells  "  Miss  Gertrude !  "  at  her  like  she  was  a 
mile  off,  and  points  to  Pinckney,  and  inside  of  a  min- 
ute they  has  towed  'em  together,  pushed  'em  up  against 
the  rail,  and  is  makin'  'em  acquainted  at  the  rate  of  a 
mile  a  minute. 

73 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

"  Pleased,  I'm  sure,"  says  Miss  Gerty.  "  Jack  and 
Jill  are  great  friends  of  mine.  I  suppose  you  are 
their  Uncle  Pinckney." 

"  I'm  almost  beginning  to  believe  I  am,"  says  Pinck- 
ney. 

"  Why,"  says  she,  "  aren't  you " 

"  Oh,  that's  my  name,"  says  he.  "  Only  I  didn't, 
know  that  I  was  an  uncle.  Doubtless  it's  all  right, 
though.  I'll  look  it  up." 

With  that  she  eyes  him  like  she  thought  he  was 
just  out  of  the  nut  factory,  and  the  more  Pinckney 
tries  to  explain,  the  worse  he  gets  twisted.  Finally  he 
turns  to  the  twins.  "  See  here,  youngsters,"  says  he, 
"  which  one  of  you  is  Jack?  " 

"  Me,"  says  one  of  'em.     "  Fse  Jack." 

"  Well,  Jack,"  says  Pinckney,  "  what  is  your  last 
name  ?  " 

"  Anstruther,"  says  the  kid. 

"  The  devil !  "  says  Pinckney,  before  he  could  stop 
it.  Then  he  begs  pardon  all  around.  "  I  see,"  says 
he.  "  I  had  almost  forgotten  about  Jack  Anstruther, 
though  I  shouldn't.  So  Jack  is  your  papa,  is  he? 
And  where  is  Jack  now  ?  " 

Some  one  must  have  trained  them  to  do  it,  for  they 
gets  their  heads  together,  like  they  was  goin'  to  sing 
a  hymn,  rolls  up  their  eyes,  and  pipes  out,  "  Our — 
papa — is — up— there." 

74 


PUTTING     PINCKNEY   ON   THE   JOB 

"  The  deuce  you  say !  I  wouldn't  have  thought  it !  " 
gasps  Pinckney.  "  No,  no !  I — I  mean  I  hadn't  heard 
of  it." 

It  was  a  bad  break,  though;  but  the  girl  sees  how 
cut  up  he  is  about  it,  and  smooths  everything  out  with 
a  laugh. 

"  I  fancy  Jack  and  Jill  know  very  little  of  such 
things,"  says  she;  "but  they  can  tell  you  all  about 
Marie." 

"  Marie's  gone !  "  shouts  the  kids.  "  She  says  we 
drove  her  crazy." 

That  was  the  way  the  story  come  out,  steady  by 
jerks.  The  meat  of  it  was  that  one  of  Pinckney 's 
old  chums  had  passed  in  somewhere  abroad,  and  for 
some  reason  or  other  these  twins  of  his  had  been 
shipped  over  to  Pinckney  in  care  of  a  French  gov- 
erness. Between  not  knowing  how  to  herd  a  pair  of 
lively  ones  like  Jack  and  Jill,  and  her  gettin'  inter- 
ested in  a  tall  gent  with  a  lovely  black  moustache, 
Marie  had  kind  of  shifted  her  job  off  onto  the  rest  of 
the  passengers,  specially  Gerty,  and  the  minute  the 
steamer  touched  the  dock  she  had  rolled  her  hoop. 

"  Pinckney,"  says  I,  "  it's  you  to  the  bat." 

He  looks  at  the  twins  doubtful,  then  he  squints  at 
me,  and  next  he  looks  at  Miss  Gertrude.  "  By  Jove !  " 
says  he.  "  It  appears  that  way,  doesn't  it?  I  wonder 
how  long  I  am  expected  to  keep  them  ?  " 

75 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

The  twins  didn't  know;  I  didn't;  and  neither  does 
Gerty. 

"  I  had  planned  to  take  a  noon  train  west,"  says 
she ;  "  but  if  you  think  I  could  help  in  getting  Jack 
and  Jill  ashore,  I'll  stay  over  for  a  few  hours." 

"  Will  you  ?  "  says  he.  "  That's  ripping  good  of 
you.  Really,  you  know,  I  never  took  care  of  twins 
before." 

"  How  odd !  "  says  she,  tearin'  off  a  little  laugh 
that  sounds  as  if  it  come  out  of  a  music  box.  "  I 
suppose  you  will  take  them  home  ?  " 

"  Home !  "  says  Pinckney.  Say,  you'd  thought  he 
never  heard  the  word  before.  "  Why — ah — er — I 
live  at  the  club,  you  know." 

"  Oh,"  says  she. 

"  Would  a  hotel  do  ?  "  says  Pinckney. 

"  You  might  try  it,"  says  she,  throwin'  me  a  look 
that  was  all  twinkles. 

Then  we  rounds  up  the  kids'  traps,  sees  to  their 
baggage,  and  calls  another  cab.  Pinckney  and  the 
girl  takes  Jill,  I  loads  Jack  in  with  me,  and  off  we 
starts.  It  was  a  great  ride.  Ever  try  to  answer  all 
the  questions  a  kid  of  that  age  can  think  up?  Say, 
I  was  three  behind  and  short  of  breath  before  we'd 
gone  ten  blocks. 

"  Is  all  this  America  ?  "  says  Mr.  Jack,  pointin'  up 
Broadway. 

76 


PUTTING    PINCKNEY   ON   THE   JOB 

"  No,  sonny,"  says  I ;  "  this  is  little  old  New  York." 

"  Where's  America,  then  ?  "  says  he. 

"  Around  the  edges,"  says  I. 

"  I'm  goin'  to  be  president  some  day,"  says  he. 
"Are  you?" 

"  Not  till  Teddy  lets  go,  anyway,"  says  I. 

"Who's  Teddy?"  says  he. 

"  The  man  behind  the  stick,"  says  I. 

"  I  wish  I  had  a  stick,"  says  Jack ;  "  then  I  could 
whip  the  hossie.  I  wish  I  had  suffin'  to  eat,  too." 

"  I'd  give  a  dollar  if  you  had,"  says  I. 

It  seems  that  Jill  has  been  struck  with  the  same 
idea,  for  pretty  soon  we  comes  together,  and  Pinck- 
ney  shouts  that  we're  all  goin'  to  have  lunch.  Now, 
there's  a  lot  of  eatin'  shops  in  this  town;  but  I'll  bet 
Pinckney  couldn't  name  more'n  four,  to  save  his  neck, 
and  the  Fifth-ave.  joint  he  picks  out  was  the  one  he's 
most  used  to. 

It  ain't  what  you'd  call  a  fam'ly  place.  Mostly  the 
people  who  hang  out  there  belong  to  the  Spender 
clan.  It's  where  the  thousand-dollar  tenors,  and  the 
ex-steel  presidents,  and  the  pick  of  the  pony  ballet 
come  for  broiled  birds  and  bottled  bubbles.  But  that 
don't  bother  Pinckney  a  bit;  so  we  blazes  right  in, 
kids  and  all.  The  head  waiter  most  has  a  fit  when  he 
spots  Pinckney  towin'  a  twin  with  each  hand ;  but  he 
plants  us  at  a  round  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 

77 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

turns  on  the  electric  light  under  the  seashell  shades, 
and  passes  out  the  food  programs.  I  looks  over  the 
card;  but  as  there  wa'n't  anything  entered  that  I'd 
ever  met  before,  I  passes.  Gerty,  she  takes  a  look 
around,  and  smiles.  But  the  twins  wa'n't  a  bit 
fazed. 

"  What  will  it  be,  youngsters  ?  "  says  Pinckney. 

"  Jam,"  says  they. 

"Jam  it  is,"  says  Pinckney,  and  orders  a  couple 
of  jars. 

"  Don't  you  think  they  ought  to  have  something 
besides  sweets  ? "  says  Miss  Gerty. 

"  Blessed  if  I  know,"  says  Pinckney,  and  he  puts  it 
up  to  the  kids  if  there  wa'n't  anything  else  they'd 
like. 

"  Yep !  "  says  they  eagerly.     "  Pickles." 

That's  what  they  had  too,  jam  and  pickles,  with  a 
little  bread  on  the  side.  Then,  while  we  was  finishin' 
off  the  grilled  bones,  or  whatever  it  was  Pinckney  had 
guessed  at,  they  slides  out  of  their  chairs  and  organises 
a  game  of  tag.  I've  heard  of  a  lot  of  queer  doin's 
bein'  pulled  off  in  that  partic'lar  caffy,  but  I'll  bet  this 
was  the  first  game  of  cross  tag  ever  let  loose  there. 
It  was  a  lively  one,  for  the  tables  was  most  all  filled, 
and  the  tray  jugglers  was  skatin'  around  thick.  That 
only  made  it  all  the  more  interestin'  for  the  kids. 
Divin'  between  the  legs  of  garc,ons  loaded  down  with 

78 


PUTTING     PINCKNEY   ON    THE   JOB 

silver  and  china  dishes  was  the  best  sport  they'd  struck 
in  a  month,  and  they  just  whooped  it  up. 

I  could  see  the  head  waiter,  standin'  on  tiptoes, 
watchin'  'em  and  holdin'  his  breath.  Pinckney  was  be- 
ginnin'  to  look  worried  too,  but  Gerty  was  settin' 
there,  as  calm  and  smilin'  as  if  they  was  playin'  in  a 
vacant  lot.  It  was  easy  to  see  she  wa'n't  one  of  the 
worryin'  kind. 

"  I  wonder  if  I  shouldn't  stop  them  ?  "  says  Pinck- 
ney. 

Before  he's  hardly  got  it  out,  there  comes  a  bang 
and  a  smash,  and  a  fat  French  waiter  goes  down  with 
umpteen  dollars'  worth  of  fancy  grub  and  dishes. 

"  Perhaps  you'd  better,"  says  Gerty. 

"  Yes,"  says  I,  "  some  of  them  careless  waiters  might 
fall  on  one  of  'em." 

With  that  Pinckney  starts  after  'em,  tall  hat,  cane, 
and  all.  The  kids  see  him,  and  take  it  that  he's  joined 
the  game. 

"  Oh,  here's  Uncle  Pinckney ! "  they  shouts. 
"  You're  it,  Uncle  Pinckney !  "  and  off  they  goes. 

That  sets  everybody  roarin' — except  Pinckney.  He 
turns  a  nice  shade  of  red,  and  gives  it  up.  I  guess 
they'd  put  the  place  all  to  the  bad,  if  Miss  Gerty 
hadn't  stood  up  smilin'  and  held  her  hands  out  to 
them.  They  come  to  her  like  she'd  pulled  a  string,  and 
in  a  minute  it  was  all  over. 

79 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

"  Pinckney,"  says  I,  "  you  want  to  rehearse  this 
ancle  act  some  before  you  spring  it  on  the  public 
again." 

"  I  wish  I  could  get  at  that  letter  and  find  out  how 
long  this  is  going  to  last,"  says  he,  sighin'  and  moppin' 
his  noble  brow. 

But  if  Pinckney  was  shy  on  time  for  letter  readin' 
before,  he  had  less  of  it  now.  The  three  of  us  put 
in  the  afternoon  lookin'  after  that  pair  of  kids,  and 
we  was  all  busy  at  that.  Twice  Miss  Gerty  started 
to  break  away  and  go  for  a  train;  but  both  times 
Pinckney  sent  me  to  call  her  back  Soon's  she  got 
on  the  scene  everything  was  lovely. 

Pinckney  had  picked  out  a  suite  of  rooms  at  the 
Waldorf,  and  he  thought  as  soon  as  he  could  get  hold 
of  a  governess  and  a  maid  his  troubles  would  be  over. 
But  it  wa'n't  so  easy  to  pick  up  a  pair  of  twin  trainers. 
Three  or  four  sets  shows  up ;  but  when  they  starts  to 
ask  questions  about  who  the  twins  belongs  to,  and  who 
Pinckney  was,  and  where  Miss  Gerty  comes  in,  and 
what  was  I  doin'  there  they  gets  a  touch  of  pneumonia 
in  the  feet. 

'  I  ain't  casting  any  insinuations,"  says  one ;  "  but  I 
never  have  been  mixed  up  in  a  kidnapping  case  before, 
and  I  guess  I  won't  begin  now." 

"  The  sassy  thing ! "  says  I,  as  she  bangs  the 
door. 

80 


PUTTING     PINCKNEY   ON    THE   JOB 

Pinckney  looks  stunned ;  but  Miss  Gerty  only  laughs. 

"  Perhaps  you'd  better  let  me  go  out  and  find  some 
one,"  says  she.  "  And  maybe  I'll  stay  over  for  a 
day." 

While  she  was  gone  Pinckney  gets  me  to  take  a 
note  up  to  his  man,  tellin'  him  to  overhaul  the  mail  and 
send  all  the  London  letters  down.  That  took  me  less'n 
an  hour,  but  when  I  gets  back  to  the  hotel  I  finds 
Pinckney  with  furrows  in  his  brow,  tryin'  to  make 
things  right  with  the  manager.  He'd  only  left  the 
twins  locked  up  in  the  rooms  for  ten  minutes  or  so, 
while  he  goes  down  for  some  cigarettes  and  the  after- 
noon papers;  but  before  he  gets  back  they've  rung 
up  everything,  from  the  hall  maids  to  the  fire  depart- 
ment, run  the  bath  tub  over,  and  rigged  the  patent 
fire  escapes  out  of  the  window. 

"  Was  it  you  that  was  tellin'  about  not  wantin'  to 
miss  any  fun  ?  "  says  I. 

"Don't  rub  it  in,  Shorty,"  says  he.  "Did  you  get 
that  blamed  Tootle  letter?" 

He  grabs  it  eager.  "  Now,"  says  he,  "  we'll  see  who 
these  youngsters  are  to  be  handed  over  to,  and 
when." 

The  twins  had  got  me  harnessed  up  to  a  chair,  and 
we  was  havin'  an  elegant  time,  when  Pinckney  gives 
a  groan  and  hollers  for  me  to  come  in  and  shut  the 
door. 

81 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

"Shorty,"  says  he,  "what  do  you  think?  There 
isn't  anyone  else.  I've  got  to  keep  them." 

Then  he  reads  me  the  letter,  which  is  from  some 
English  lawyers,  sayin'  that  the  late  Mr.  Anstruther, 
havin'  no  relations,  has  asked  that  his  two  children, 
Jack  and  Jill,  should  be  sent  over  to  his  old  and  dear 
friend,  Mr.  Lionel  Ogden  Pinckney  Bruce,  with  the 
request  that  he  act  as  their  guardian  until  they  should 
come  of  age.  The  letter  also  says  that  there's  a  wad  *. 
of  money  in  the  bank  for  expenses. 

"  And  the  deuce  of  it  is,  I  can't  refuse,"  says  Pinck- 
ney. "  Jack  once  did  me  a  good  turn  that  I  can  never 
forget." 

"  Well,  this  makes  twice,  then,"  says  I.  "  But  cheer 
up.  For  a  bachelor,  you're  doin'  well,  ain't  you  ?  Now 
all  you  need  is  an  account  at  the  grocer's,  and  you're 
almost  as  good  as  a  fam'ly  man." 

"  But,"  says  he,  "  I  know  nothing  about  bringing 
up  children." 

"  Oh,  you'll  learn,"  says  I.  "  You'll  be  manager  of 
an  orphan  asylum  yet." 

It  wa'n't  until  Miss  Gerty  shows  up  with  a  broad 
faced  Swedish  nurse  that  Pinckney  gets  his  courage 
back.  Gerty  tells  him  he  can  take  the  night  off,  as 
she'll  be  on  the  job  until  mornin';  and  Pinckney  says 
the  thoughts  of  goin'  back  to  the  club  never  seemed 
quite  so  good  to  him  as  then. 

82 


PUTTING     PINCKNEY   ON   THE   JOB 

"  So  long,"  says  I ;  "  but  don't  forget  that  you're  an 
uncle." 

I  has  a  picture  of  Pinckney  takin'  them  twins  by  the 
hand,  about  the  second  day,  and  headin'  for  some 
boardin'  school  or  private  home.  I  couldn't  help 
thinkin'  about  what  a  shame  it  was  goin'  to  be  too,  for 
they  sure  was  a  cute  pair  of  youngsters — too  cute  to 
be  farmed  out  reckless. 

Course,  though,  I  couldn't  see  Pinckney  doin'  any- 
thing else.  Even  if  he  was  married  to  one  of  them 
lady  nectarines  in  the  crowd  he  travels  with,  and  had 
a  kid  of  his  own,  I  guess  it  would  be  a  case  of  mama 
and  papa  havin'  to  be  introduced  to  little  Gwendolyn 
every  once  in  awhile  by  the  head  of  the  nursery  depart- 
ment. 

Oh,  I  has  a  real  good  time  for  a  few  days,  stewin' 
over  them  kids,  and  wonderin'  how  they  and  Pinckney 
was  comin'  on.  And  then  yesterday  I  runs  across  the 
whole  bunch,  Miss  Gerty  and  all,  paradin'  down  the 
avenue  bound  for  a  candy  shop,  the  whole  four  of  'em 
as  smilin'  as  if  they  was  startin'  on  a  picnic. 

"  Chee,  Pinckney !  "  says  I,  "  you  look  like  you  was 
pleased  with  the  amateur  uncle  business." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  says  he.  "  You  ought  to  see  how 
glad  those  youngsters  are  to  see  me  when  I  come  in. 
And  we  have  great  sport." 

"  Hotel  people  still  friendly  ?  "  says  I. 
83 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

"  Why,"  says  he,  "  I  believe  there  have  been  a  few 
complaints.  But  we'll  soon  be  out  of  that.  I've  leased 
a  country  house  for  the  summer,  you  know." 

"  A  house !  "  says  I.  "  You  with  a  house !  Who'll 
run  it?" 

"  S-s-s-sh ! "  says  he,  pullin'  me  one  side  and  talkin' 
into  my  ear.  "  I'm  going  West  to-night,  to  bring  on 
her  mother,  and " 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  says  I.  "  You're  goin'  to  offer  Gerty 
the  job?" 

Pinckney  gets  a  colour  on  his  cheek  bones  at  that. 
"  She's  a  charming  girl,  Shorty,"  says  he. 

"  She's  nothin'  less,"  says  I ;  "  and  them  twins  are 
all  right  too.  But  say,  Pinckney,  I'll  bet  you  never 
meet  a  steamer  again  without  knowin'  all  about  why 
you're  there.  Eh? " 


VI 


WELL,  I've  been  doin'  a  little  more  circulatin'  among 
the  fat-wads.  It's  gettin'  to  be  a  reg'lar  fad  with  me. 
And  say,  I  used  to  think  they  was  a  simple  lot ;  but  I 
don't  know  as  they're  much  worse  than  some  others 
that  ain't  got  so  good  an  excuse. 

I  was  sittin'  on  my  front  porch,  at  Primrose  Park, 
when  in  rolls  that  big  bubble  of  Sadie's,  with  her  be- 
hind the  plate  glass  and  rubber. 

"  But  I  thought  you  was  figurin'  in  that  big  house 
party  out  to  Breeze  Acres,"  says  I,  "  where  they've 
got  a  duchess  on  exhibition  ?  " 

"  It's  the  duchess  I'm  running  away  from,"  says 
Sadie. 

"  You  ain't  gettin'  stage  fright  this  late  in  the  game, 
are  you  ?  "  says  I. 

"  Hardly,"  says  she.  "  I'm  bored,  though.  Th'e 
duchess  is  a  frost.  She  talks  of  nothing  but  her  girls' 
charity  school  and  her  complexion  baths.  Thirty  of 
us  have  been  shut  up  with  her  for  three  days  now, 
and  we  know  her  by  heart.  Pinckney  asked  me  to 
drop  around  and  see  if  I  could  find  you.  He  says  he's 

85 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

played  billiards  and  poker  until  he's  lost  all  the  friends 
he  ever  had,  and  that  if  he  doesn't  get  some  exercise 
soon  he'll  die  of  indigestion.  Will  you  let  me  take  you 
over  for  the  night?" 

Well,  I've  monkeyed  with  them  swell  house  parties 
before,  and  generally  I've  dug  up  trouble  at  'em;  but 
for  the  sake  of  Pinckney's  health  I  said  I'd  take 
another  chance;  so  in  I  climbs,  and  we  goes  zippin' 
off  through  the  mud.  Sadie  hadn't  told  me  more'n 
half  the  cat-scraps  the  women  had  pulled  off  durin' 
them  rainy  days  before  we  was  'most  there. 

Just  as  we  slowed  up  to  turn  into  the  private  road 
that  leads  up  to  Breeze  Acres,  one  of  them  dinky 
little  one-lunger  benzine  buggies  comes  along,  missin' 
forty  explosions  to  the  minute  and  coughin'  itself  to 
death  on  a  grade  you  could  hardly  see.  All  of  a  sud- 
den somethin'  goes  off,  Bang!  and  the  feller  that  was 
jugglin'  the  steerin'  bar  throws  up  both  hands  like  he'd 
been  shot  with  a  ripe  tomato. 

"  Caramba !  "  says  he.  "  Likewise  gadzooks !  "  as 
the  antique  quits  movin'  altogether. 

I'd  have  known  that  lemon-coloured  pair  of  lip 
whiskers  anywhere.  Leonidas  Dodge  has  the  only 
ones  in  captivity.  I  steps  out  of  the  show-case  in 
time  to  see  mister  man  lift  off  the  front  lid  and  shove 
his  head  into  the  works. 

"  Is  the  post  mortem  on  ?  "  says  I. 
86 


THE  SOARING  OF  THE  SAGAWAS 

"  By  the  beard  of  the  prophet !  "  says  he,  swingin1 
around,  "  Shorty  McCabe !  " 

"  Much  obliged  to  meet  you,"  says  I,  givin'  him  the 
grip.  "  The  Electro-Polisho  business  must  be  boom- 
in',"  says  I,  "  when  you  carry  it  around  in  a  gasoline 
coach.  But  go  on  with  your  autopsy.  Is  it  loco- 
motor  ataxia  that  ails  the  thing,  or  cirrhosis  of  the 
sparkin'  plug?  " 

"  It's  nearer  senile  dementia,"  says  he.  "  Gaze  on 
that  piece  of  mechanism,  Shorty.  There  isn't  another 
like  it  in  the  country." 

"  I  can  believe  that,"  says  I. 

For  an  auto  it  was  the  punkiest  ever.  No  two  of 
the  wheels  was  mates  or  the  same  size ;  the  tires  was 
bandaged  like  so  many  sore  throats ;  the  front  dasher 
was  wabbly;  one  of  the  side  lamps  was  a  tin  stable 
lantern ;  and  the  seat  was  held  on  by  a  couple  of  cleats 
knocked  off  the  end  of  a  packing  box. 

"  Looks  like  it  had  seen  some  first-aid  repairing" 
says  I. 

"  Some !  "  says  Leonidas.  "  Why,  I've  nailed  this 
relic  together  at  least  twice  a  week  for  the  last  two 
months.  I've  used  waggon  bolts,  nuts  borrowed  from 
wayside  pumps,  pieces  of  telephone  wire,  and  horse- 
shoe nails.  Once  I  ran  twenty  miles  with  the  sprocket 
chain  tied  up  with  twine.  And  yet  they  say  that  the 
age  of  miracles  has  passed!  It  would  need  a  whole 

87 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

machine  shop  to  get  her  going  again,"  says  he.  "  I'll 
wait  until  my  waggons  come  up,  and  then  we'll  get 
out  the  tow  rope." 

"  Waggons !  "  says  I.  "  You  ain't  travellin*  with  a 
retinue,  are  you  ?  " 

"  That's  the  exact  word  for  it,"  says  he.  And  then 
Leonidas  tells  me  about  the  Sagawa  aggregation. 
Ever  see  one  of  these  medicine  shows?  Well,  that's 
what  Leonidas  had.  He  was  sole  proprietor  and 
managing  boss  of  the  outfit. 

"  We  carry  eleven  people,  including  drivers  and 
canvas  men,"  says  he,  "  and  we  give  a  performance 
that  the  Proctor  houses  would  charge  seventy-five 
a  head  for.  It's  all  for  a  dime,  too — quarter  for  re- 
served— and  our  gentlemanly  ushers  offer  the  Sagawa 
for  sale  only  between  turns." 

"  You  talk  like  a  three-sheet  poster,"  says  I. 
"  Where  you  headed  for  now  ?  " 

"  We're  making  a  hundred-mile  jump  up  into  the 
mill  towns,"  says  he,  "  and  before  we've  worked  up 
as  far  as  Providence  I  expect  we'll  have  to  carry  the 
receipts  in  kegs." 

That  was  Leonidas,  all  over;  seein'  rainbows  when 
other  folks  would  be  predictin'  a  Johnstown  flood. 
Just  about  then,  though,  the  bottom  began  to  drop  out 
of  another  cloud,  so  I  lugged  him  over  to  the  big 
bubble  and  put  him  inside. 

88 


THE  SOARING  OF  THE  SAGAWAS 

"  Sadie/'  says  I,  "  I  want  you  to  know  an  old  side 
pardner  of  mine.  His  name's  Leonidas  Dodge,  or 
used  to  be,  and  there's  nothing  yellow  about  him  but 
his  hair." 

And  say,  Sadie  hadn't  more'n  heard  about  the 
Sagawa  outfit  than  she  begins  to  smile  all  over  her 
face;  so  I  guesses  right  off  that  she's  got  tangled  up 
with  some  fool  idea. 

"  It  would  be  such  a  change  from  the  duchess  if  we 
could  get  Mr.  Dodge  to  stop  over  at  Breeze  Acres  to- 
night and  give  his  show,"  says  Sadie. 

"  Madam,"  says  Leonidas,  "  your  wishes  are  my 
commands." 

Sadie  kept  on  grinnin'  and  plannin'  out  the  pro- 
gram, while  Leonidas  passed  out  his  high  English  as 
smooth  as  a  demonstrator  at  a  food  show.  Inside  of 
ten  minutes  they  has  it  all  fixed.  Then  Sadie  skips 
into  the  little  gate  cottage,  where  the  timekeeper  lives, 
and  calls  up  Pinckney  on  the  house  'phone.  And  say ! 
what  them  two  can't  think  of  in  the  way  of  fool  stunts 
no  one  else  can. 

By  the  time  she'd  got  through,  the  Sagawa  aggre- 
gation looms  up  on  the  road.  There  was  two  four- 
horse  waggons.  The  front  one  had  a  tarpaulin  top, 
and  under  cover  was  a  bunch  of  the  saddest  lookin' 
actorines  and  specialty  people  you'd  want  to  see.  They 
didn't  have  life  enough  to  look  out  when  the  driver 

89 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

pulled  up.  The  second  waggon  carried  the  round  top 
and  poles. 

"  Your  folks  look  as  gay  as  a  gang  startin'  off  to  do 
time  on  the  island,"  says  I. 

"  They're  not  as  cheerful  as  they  might  be,  that's 
a  fact,"  says  Leonidas. 

It  didn't  take  him  long  to  put  life  into  'em,  though. 
When  he'd  give  off  a  few  brisk  orders  they  chirked 
up  amazin'.  They  shed  their  rain  coats  for  spangled 
jackets,  hung  out  a  lot  of  banners,  and  uncased  a  lot 
of  pawnshop  trombones  and  bass  horns  and  such 
things.  "  All  up  for  the  grand  street  parade !  "  sings 
out  Leonidas. 

For  an  off-hand  attempt,  it  wa'n't  so  slow.  First 
comes  Pinckney,  ridin'  a  long-legged  huntin'  horse 
and  keepin'  the  rain  off  his  red  coat  with  an  um- 
brella. Then  me  and  Sadie  in  her  bubble,  towin'  the 
busted  one-lunger  behind.  Leonidas  was  standin'  up 
on  the  seat,  wearin'  his  silk  hat  and  handlin'  a  mega- 
phone. Next  came  the  band  waggon,  everybody 
armed  with  some  kind  of  musical  weapon,  and  tearin' 
the  soul  out  of  "  The  Merry  Widow  "  waltz,  in  his  own 
particular  way.  The  pole  waggon  brings  up  the  rear. 

Pinckney  must  have  spread  the  news  well,  for  the 
whole  crowd  was  out  on  the  front  veranda  to  see  us 
go  past.  And  say,  when  Leonidas  sizes  up  the  kind 
of  folks  that  was  givin'  him  the  glad  hand,  he  drops 

90 


THE  SOARING  OF  THE  SAGAWAS 

the  imitation  society  talk  that  he  likes  to  spout,  and 
switches  to  straight  Manhattanese. 

"  Well,  well,  well !  Here  we  are !  "  he  yells  through 
the  megaphone.  "  The  only  original  Sagawa  show 
on  the  road,  remember !  Come  early,  gents,  and  bring 
your  lady  friends.  The  doors  of  the  big  tent  will  open 
at  eight  o'clock — eight  o'clock — and  at  eight-fifteen 
Mile.  Peroxide,  the  near  queen  of  comedy,  will  cut 
loose  on  the  coon  songs." 

"  My  word ! "  says  the  duchess,  as  she  squints 
through  her  glasses  at  the  aggregation. 

But  the  rest  of  the  guests  was  just  ripe  for  some- 
thing of  the  kind.  Mrs.  Curlew  Brassett,  who'd  al- 
most worried  herself  sick  at  seein'  her  party  put  on 
the  blink  by  a  shop-worn  exhibit  on  the  inside  and 
rain  on  the  out,  told  Pinckney  he  could  have  the  medi- 
cine tent  pitched  in  the  middle  of  her  Italian  garden, 
if  he  wanted  to.  They  didn't,  though.  They  stuck 
up  the  round  top  on  the  lawn  just  in  front  of  the 
stables,  and  they  hadn't  much  more'n  lit  the  gasolene 
flares  before  the  folks  begins  to  stroll  out  and  hit  up 
the  ticket  waggon. 

"  It's  the  first  time  I  ever  had  the  nerve  to  charge 
two  dollars  a  throw  for  perches  on  the  blue  boards," 
says  Leonidas ;  "  but  that  friend  of  yours,  Mr.  Pinck- 
ney, wanted  me  to  make  it  five." 

Anyway,  it  was  almost  worth  the  money.     Mile, 

91 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

Peroxide,  who  did  the  high  and  lofty  with  a  job  lot 
of  last  year  coon  songs,  owned  a  voice  that  would  have 
had  a  Grand-st.  banana  huckster  down  and  out;  the 
monologue  man  was  funny  only  when  he  didn't  mean 
to  be ;  and  the  black-face  banjoist  was  the  limit.  Then 
there  was  a  juggler,  and  Montana  Kate,  who  wore 
buckskin  leggins  and  did  a  fake  rifle-shootin'  act. 

I  tried  to  head  Leonidas  off  from  sendin'  out  his 
tent  men,  rigged  up  in  red  flannel  coats,  to  sell  bottled 
Sagawa ;  but  he  said  Pinckney  had  told  him  to  be  sure 
and  do  it.  They  were  birds,  them  "  gentlemanly 
ushers." 

"  I'll  bet  I  know  where  you  picked  up  a  lot  of  'em," 
says  I. 

"  Where  ?  "  says  Leonidas. 

"  Off  the  benches  in  City  Hall  park,"  I  says. 

"  All  but  one,"  says  he,  "  and  he  had  just  graduated 
from  Snake  Hill.  But  you  didn't  take  this  for  one  of 
Frohman's  road  companies,  did  you  ?  " 

They  unloaded  the  Sagawa,  though.  The  audience 
wasn't  missin'  anything,  and  most  everyone  bought  a 
bottle  for  a  souvenir. 

"  It's  the  great  Indian  liver  regulator  and  com- 
plexion beautifier,"  says  Leonidas  in  his  business  talk. 
"  It  removes  corns,  takes  the  soreness  out  of  stiff 
muscles,  and  restores  the  natural  colour  to  grey  hair. 
Also,  ladies  and  gents,  it  can  be  used  as  a  furniture 

92 


THE  SOARING  OF  THE  SAGA  WAS 

polish,  while  a  few  drops  in  the  bath  is  better  than  a 
week  at  Hot  Springs." 

He  was  right  to  home,  Leonidas  was,  and  it  was  a 
joy  to  see  him.  He'd  got  himself  into  a  wrinkled 
dress  suit,  stuck  an  opera  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head, 
and  he  jollied  along  that  swell  mob  just  as  easy  as 
if  they'd  been  factory  hands.  And  they  all  seemed 
glad  they'd  come.  After  it  was  over  Pinckney  says 
that  it  was  too  bad  to  keep  such  a  good  thing  all  to 
themselves,  and  he  wants  me  to  see  if  Leonidas 
wouldn't  stay  and  give  grand  matinee  performance 
next  day. 

"  Tell  him  I'll  guarantee  him  a  full  house,"  says 
Pinckney. 

Course,  Leonidas  didn't  need  any  coaxin'.  "  But 
I  wish  you'd  find  out  if  there  isn't  a  butcher's  shop 
handy,"  says  he.  "  You  see,  we  were  up  against  it 
for  a  week  or  so,  over  in  Jersey,  and  the  rations  ran 
kind  of  low.  In  fact,  all  we've  had  to  live  on  for 
the  last  four  days  has  been  bean  soup  and  pilot  bread, 
and  the  artists  are  beginning  to  complain.  Now  that 
I've  got  a  little  real  money,  I'd  like  to  buy  a  few  pounds 
of  steak.  I  reckon  the  aggregation  would  sleep  better 
after  a  hot  supper." 

I  lays  the  case  before  Pinckney  and  Sadie,  and 
they  goes  straight  for  Mrs.  Brassett.  And  say !  before 
eleven-thirty  they  had  that  whole  outfit  lined  up  in 

93 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

the  main  dinin'-room  before  such  a  feed  as  most  of 
'em  hadn't  ever  dreamed  about.  There  was  every- 
thing, from  chilled  olives  to  hot  squab,  with  a  pint 
of  fizz  at  every  plate. 

Right  after  breakfast  Pinckney  began  warmin'  the 
telephone  wires,  callin'  up  everyone  he  knew  within 
fifteen  miles.  And  he  sure  did  a  good  job.  While  he 
was  at  that  I  strolls  out  to  the  tent  to  have  a  little 
chin  with  Leonidas,  and  I  discovers  him  up  to  the  neck 
in  trouble.  He  was  backed  up  against  the  centre  pole, 
and  in  front  of  him  was  the  whole  actorette  push,  all 
jawin'  at  once,  and  raisin'  seven  different  kinds  of 
ructions. 

"  Excuse  me  for  buttin'  in,"  says  I ;  "  but  I  thought 
maybe  this  might  be  a  happy  family." 

"  It  ought  to  be,  but  it  ain't,"  says  Leonidas.  "  Just 
listen  to  'em." 

And  say,  what  kind  of  bats  do  you  think  had  got 
into  their  belfries?  Seems  they'd  heard  about  the 
two-dollar-a-head  crowd  that  was  comin'  to  the  mati- 
nee. That,  and  bein'  waited  on  by  a  butler  at  dinner 
the  night  before,  had  gone  to  the  vacant  spot  where 
their  brains  ought  to  be.  They  were  tellin'  Leonidas 
that  if  they  were  goin'  to  play  to  Broadway  prices  they 
were  goin'  to  give  Broadway  acts. 

Mile.  Peroxide  allowed  that  she  would  cut  out  the 
rag  time  and  put  in  a  few  choice  selections  from 

94 


THE  SOARING  OF  THE  SAGAWAS 

grand  opera.  Montana  Kate  hears  that,  and  sheds 
the  buckskin  leggins.  No  rifle  shootin'  for  her;  not 
much !  She  had  Ophelia's  lines  down  pat,  and  she 
meant  to  give  'em  or  die  in  the  attempt.  The  black- 
face ban  joist  says  he  can  impersonate  Sir  Henry  Irv- 
ing to  the  life ;  and  the  juggler  guy  wants  to  show  'em 
how  he  can  eat  up  the  Toreador  song. 

"  These  folks  want  somethin'  high-toned,"  says  Mile. 
Peroxide,  "  and  this  is  the  chance  of  a  lifetime  for 
me  to  fill  the  bill.  I'd  been  doin'  grand  opera  long 
ago  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  trust." 

"  They  told  me  at  the  dramatic  school  in  Dubuque 
that  I  ought  to  stick  to  Shakespeare,"  says  Montana 
Kate,  "  and  here's  where  I  get  my  hooks  in." 

"  You  talk  to  'em,  Shorty,"  says  Leonidas ;  "  I'm 
hoarse." 

"  Not  me,"  says  I.  "  I  did  think  you  was  a  real 
gent,  but  I've  changed  my  mind,  Mr.  Dodge.  Any- 
one who'll  tie  the  can  to  high-class  talent  the  way 
you're  tryin'  to  do  is  nothin'  less'n  a  fiend  in  human 
form." 

"  There,  now !  "  says  the  blondine. 

Leonidas  chucks  the  sponge.  "  You  win,"  says  he. 
"  I'll  let  you  all  take  a  stab  at  anything  you  please, 
even  if  it  comes  to  recitin'  '  Ostler  Joe ' ;  but  I'll  be 
blanked  if  I  shut  down  on  selling  Sagawa ! " 

Two  minutes  later  they  were  turnin'  trunks  up- 
95 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

side  down  diggin'  out  costumes  to  fit.  As  soon  as  they 
began  to  rehearse,  Leonidas  goes  outside  and  sits  down 
behind  the  tent,  holdin'  his  face  in  his  hands,  like  he 
had  the  toothache. 

"  It  makes  me  ashamed  of  my  kind,"  says  he. 
"  Why,  they're  rocky  enough  for  a  third-rate  waggon 
show,  and  I  supposed  they  knew  it ;  but  I'll  be  hanged 
if  every  last  one  of  'em  don't  think  they've  got  Sothern 
or  Julia  Marlowe  tied  in  a  knot.  Shorty,  it's  human 
nature  glimpses  like  this  that  makes  bein'  an  optimist 
hard  work." 

"  They're  a  bug-house  bunch ;  all  actors  are,"  says  I. 
"  You  can't  change  'em,  though." 

"  I  wish  I  wasn't  responsible  for  this  lot,"  says  he. 

He  was  feelin'  worse  than  ever  when  the  matinee 
opens.  It  had  stopped  rainin'  early  in  the  mornin', 
and  all  the  cottagers  for  miles  around  had  come  over 
to  see  what  new  doin's  Pinckney  had  hatched  up. 
There  was  almost  a  capacity  house  when  Leonidas 
steps  out  on  the  stage  to  announce  the  first  turn.  I 
knew  he  had  more  green  money  in  his  clothes  that 
minute  than  he'd  handled  in  a  month  before,  but  he 
acted  as  sheepish  as  if  he  was  goin'  to  strike  'em  for 
a  loan. 

"  I  wish  to  call  the  attention  of  the  audience,"  says 
he,  "to  a  few  changes  of  program.  Mile.  Peroxide, 
who  is  billed  to  sing  coon  songs,  will  render  by  her 

96 


THE  SOARING  OF  THE  SAGAWAS 

own  request  the  jewel  song  from  '  Faust,'  and  two 
solos  from  '  Lucia  di  Lammermoor.'  " 

And  say,  she  did  it !  Anyways,  them  was  what  she 
aimed  at.  For  awhile  the  crowd  held  its  breath,  tryin' 
to  believe  it  was  only  a  freight  engine  whistlin'  for 
brakes,  or  somethin'  like  that.  Then  they  began  to 
grin.  Next  some  one  touched  off  a  giggle,  and  after 
that  they  roared  until  they  were  wipin'  away  the 
tears. 

Leonidas  don't  look  quite  so  glum  when  he  comes 
out  to  present  the  reformed  banjoist  as  Sir  Henry 
Irving.  He'd  got  his  cue,  all  right,  and  he  hands  out 
a  game  of  talk  about  delayed  genius  comin'  to  the 
front  that  tickled  the  folks  clear  through.  The  guy 
never  seemed  to  drop  that  he  was  bein'  handed  the 
lemon,  and  he  done  his  worst. 

I  thought  they'd  used  up  all  the  laughs  they  had  in 
'em,  but  Montana  Kate  as  Ophelia  set  'em  wild  again. 
Maybe  you've  seen  amateurs  that  was  funny,  but  you 
never  see  anything  to  beat  that  combination.  Ama- 
teurs are  afraid  to  let  themselves  loose,  but  not  that 
bunch.  They  were  so  sure  of  bein'  the  best  that  ever 
happened  in  their  particular  lines  that  they  didn't  even 
know  the  crowd  was  givin'  'em  the  ha-ha  until  they'd 
got  through. 

Anyway,  as  a  rib  tickler  that  show  was  all  to  the 
good.  The  folks  nearly  mobbed  Pinckney,  tellin'  him 

97 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

what  a  case  he  was  to  think  up  such  an  exhibition,  and 
he  laid  it  all  to  Sadie  and  me. 

Only  the  duchess  didn't  exactly  seem  to  connect  with 
the  joke.  She  sat  stolidly  through  the  whole  perform- 
ance in  a  kind  of  a  daze,  and  then  afterwards  she  says : 
"  It  wasn't  what  I'd  call  really  clever,  you  know ;  but, 
my  word!  the  poor  things  tried  hard  enough." 

Just  before  I  starts  for  home  I  hunts  up  Leonidas. 
He  was  givin'  orders  to  his  boss  canvasman  when  I 
found  him,  and  feelin'  the  pulse  of  his  one-lunger,  that 
Mrs.  Brassett's  chauffeur  had  tinkered  up. 

"  Well,  Leonidas,"  says  I,  "  are  you  goin'  to  put  the 
Shakespeare-Sagawa  combination  on  the  ten-twenty- 
thirt  circuit?" 

"  Not  if  I  can  prove  an  alibi,"  says  he.  "I've  just 
paid  a  week's  advance  salary  to  that  crowd  of  Melbas 
and  Booths,  and  told  'em  to  go  sign  contracts  with 
Frohman  and  Hammerstein,  I  may  be  running  a 
medicine  show,  but  I've  got  some  professional  pride 
left.  Now  I'm  going  back  to  New  York  and  engage 
an  educated  pig  and  a  troupe  of  trained  dogs  to  fill  out 
the  season." 

The  last  I  saw  of  Montana  Kate  she  was  pacinf 
up  and  down  the  station  platform,  readin'  a  copy  of 
"  Romeo  and  Juliet."  Ain't  they  the  pippins,  though  ? 


VII 

RINKEY   AND    THE    PHONY    LAMP 

SAY,  for  gettin'  all  the  joy  that's  comin'  to  you, 
there's  nothin'  like  bein'  a  mixer.  The  man  who 
travels  in  one  class  all  the  time  misses  a  lot.  And  I 
sure  was  mixin'  it  when  I  closes  with  Snick  Butters 
and  Sir  Hunter  Twiggle  all  in  the  same  day. 

Snick  had  first  place  on  the  card.  He  drifts  into  the 
Studio  early  in  the  forenoon,  and  when  I  sees  the 
green  patch  over  the  left  eye  I  knows  what's  comin'. 
He's  shy  of  a  lamp  on  that  side,  you  know — uses  the 
kind  you  buy  at  the  store,  when  he's  got  it ;  and  when 
he  ain't  got  it,  he  wants  money. 

I  s'pose  if  I  was  wise  I'd  scratched  Snick  off  my 
list  long  ago;  but  knowin'  him  is  one  of  the  luxuries 
I've  kept  up.  You  know  how  it  is  with  them  old  time 
friends  you've  kind  of  outgrown  but  hate  to  chuck  in 
the  discard,  even  when  they  work  their  touch  as  reg'lar 
as  rent  bills. 

But  Snick  and  me  played  on  the  same  block  when 
we  was  kids,  and  there  was  a  time  when  I  looked  for 
Snick  to  be  boostin'  me,  'stead  of  me  boostin'  him. 
He's  one  of  tfie  near-smarts  that  you're  always  expect- 

99 

SAINT  ANTHONY'S  SEMINARY 
SANTA  BARBARA,  CALIF. 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

in'  to  make  a  record,  but  that  never  does.  Bright  look- 
in'  boy,  neat  dresser,  and  all  that,  but  never  stickin'  to 
one  thing  long  enough  to  make  good.  You've  seen 
'em. 

"  Hello,  Snick !  "  says  I,  as  he  levels  the  single  barrel 
on  me.  "  I  see  you've  pulled  down  the  shade  again. 
What's  happened  to  that  memorial  window  of  yours 
this  time?" 

"  Same  old  thing,"  says  he.  "  It's  in  at  Simpson's 
for  five,  and  a  bookie's  got  the  five." 

"And  now  you  want  to  negotiate  a  second  mort- 
gage, eh  ?  "  says  I. 

That  was  the  case.  He  tells  me  his  newest  job  is 
handlin'  the  josh  horn  on  the  front  end  of  one  of  these 
Rube  waggons,  and  just  because  the  folks  from  Keo- 
kuk  and  Painted  Post  said  that  lookin'  at  the  patch 
took  their  minds  off  seein'  the  skyscrapers,  the  boss 
told  him  he'd  have  to  chuck  it  or  get  the  run. 

"  He  wouldn't  come  across  with  a  five  in  advance, 
either,"  says  Snick.  "  How's  that  for  the  granite 
heart?" 

"  It's  like  other  tales  of  woe  I've  heard  you  tell," 
says  I,  "  and  generally  they  could  be  traced  to  your 
backin'  three  kings,  or  gettin'  an  inside  tip  on  some 
beanery  skate." 

"  That's  right,"  says  he,  "  but  never  again.  I've 
quit  the  sportin'  life  for  good.  Just  the  same,  if  I 

100 


RINKEY  AND  THE  PHONY  LAMP 

don't  show  up  on  the  waggon  for  the  'leven  o'clock 
trip  I'll  be  turned  loose.  If  you  don't  believe  it, 
Shorty,  I'll " 

"  Ah,  don't  go  callin'  any  notary  publics,"  says  I. 
"  Here's  the  V  to  take  up  that  ticket.  But  say,  Snick ; 
how  many  times  do  I  have  to  buy  out  that  eye  before 
I  get  an  equity  in  it  ?  " 

"  It's  yours  now ;  honest,  it  is,"  says  he.  "  If  you 
say  so,  I'll  write  out  a  bill  of  sale." 

"  No,'*  says  I,  "  your  word  goes.     Do  you  pass  it? '' 

He  said  he  did. 

"  Thanks,"  says  I.  "  I  always  have  thought  that 
was  a  fine  eye,  and  I'm  proud  to  own  it.  So  long, 
Snick." 

There's  one  good  thing  about  Snick  Butters;  after 
he's  made  his  touch  he  knows  enough  to  fade;  don't 
hang  around  and  rub  it  in,  or  give  you  a  chance  to 
wish  you  hadn't  been  so  easy.  It's  touch  and  go  with 
him,  and  before  I'd  got  out  the  last  of  my  remarks 
he  was  on  his  way. 

It  wa'n't  more'n  half  josh,  though,  that  I  was  givin* 
him  about  that  phony  pane  of  his.  It  was  a  work  of 
art,  one  of  the  bright  blue  kind.  As  a  general  thing 
you  can  always  spot  a  bought  eye  as  far  as  you  can 
see  it,  they're  so  set  and  stary.  But  Snick  got  his 
when  he  was  young  and,  bein'  a  cute  kid,  he  had 
learned  how  to  use  it  so  well  that  most  folks  never 

101 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

knew  the  difference.  He  could  do  about  everything 
but  see  with  it. 

First  off  he'd  trained  it  to  keep  pace  with  the  other, 
movin'  'em  together,  like  they  was  natural ;  but  when- 
ever he  wanted  to  he  could  make  the  glass  one  stand 
still  and  let  the  other  roam  around.  He  always  did 
that  on  Friday  afternoons  when  he  got  up  to  speak 
pieces  in  the  grammar  school.  And  it  was  no  trick 
at  all  for  him  to  look  wall  eyed  one  minute,  cross  eyed 
the  next,  and  then  straighten  'em  out  with  a  jerk  of 
his  head.  Maybe  if  it  hadn't  been  for  that  eye  of 
Snick's  I'd  have  got  further'n  the  eighth  grade. 

His  star  performance,  though,  was  when  he  did  a 
jugglin'  act  keepin'  three  potatoes  in  the  air.  He'd 
follow  the  murphies  with  his  good  eye  and  turn  the 
other  one  on  the  audience,  and  if  you  didn't  know  how 
it  was  done,  it  would  give  you  the  creeps  up  and  down 
the  back,  just  watchin'  him. 

Say,  you'd  thought  a  feller  with  talent  like  that 
would  have  made  a  name  for  himself,  wouldn't  you? 
Tryin'  to  be  a  sport  was  where  Snick  fell  down, 
though.  He  had  the  blood,  all  right,  but  no  head. 
Why  when  we  used  to  play  marbles  for  keeps,  Snick 
would  never  know  when  to  quit.  He'd  shoot  away 
until  he'd  lost  his  last  alley,  and  then  he'd  pry  out 
that  glass  eye  of  his  and  chuck  it  in  the  ring  for  an- 
other go.  Many  a  time  Snick's  gone  home  wearin' 

102 


RINKEY   AND   THE   PHONY   LAMP 

a  striped  chiny  or  a  pink  stony  in  place  of  the  store 
eye,  and  then  his  old  lady  would  chase  around  lookin' 
for  the  kid  that  had  won  it  off m  him.  There's  such 
a  thing  as  bein'  too  good  a  loser ;  but  you  could  never 
make  Snick  see  it. 

Well,  I'd  marked  up  five  to  the  bad  on  my  books, 
and  then  Swifty  Joe  and  me  had  worked  an  hour  with 
a  couple  of  rockin'  chair  commodores  from  the  New 
York  Yacht  Club,  gettin'  'em  in  shape  to  answer  Lip- 
ton's  batch  of  spring  challenges,  when  Pinckney  blows 
in,  towin'  a  tubby,  red  faced  party  in  a  frock  coat  and 
a  silk  lid. 

"  Shorty,"  says  he,  "  I  want  you  to  know  Sir  Hun- 
ter Twiggle.  Sir  Hunter,  this  is  the  Professor  Mc- 
Cabe  you've  heard  about." 

"  If  you  heard  it  from  Pinckney,"  says  I,  "  don't 
believe  more'n  half  of  it."  With  that  we  swaps  the 
grip,  and  he  says  he's  glad  to  meet  up  with  me. 

But  say,  he  hadn't  been  in  the  shop  two  minutes 
'fore  I  was  next  to  the  fact  that  he  was  another  who'd 
had  to  mate  up  his  lamps  with  a  specimen  from  the 
glass  counter. 

"  They  must  be  runnin'  in  pairs,"  thinks  I. 
"  This'd  be  a  good  time  to  draw  to  three  of  a  kind." 

Course,  I  didn't  mention  it,  but  I  couldn't  keep  from 
watchin'  how  awkward  he  handled  his'n,  compared  to 
the  smooth  way  Snick  could  do  it.  I  guess  Pinckney 

103 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

must  have  spotted  me  comin'  the  steady  gaze,  for  pretty 
soon  he  gets  me  one  side  and  whispers,  "  Don't  appear 
to  notice  it." 
•  "  All  right,"  says  I ;  "  I'll  look  at  his  feet." 

"  No,  no,"  says  Pinckney,  "  just  pretend  you  haven't 
discovered  it.  He's  very  sensitive  on  the  subject — 
thinks  no  one  knows,  and  so  on." 

"  But  it's  as  plain  as  a  gold  tooth,"  says  I. 

"  I  know,"  says  Pinckney ;  "  but  humour  him.  He's 
the  right  sort." 

Pinckney  wa'n't  far  off,  either.  For  a  gent  that 
acted  as  though  he'd  been  born  wearin'  a  high  collar 
and  a  shiny  hat,  Sir  Twiggle  wasn't  so  worse.  Bar- 
rin'  the  stiffenin',  which  didn't  wear  off  at  all,  he  was 
a  decent  kind  of  a  haitch  eater.  Bein'  dignified  was 
something  he  couldn't  help.  You'd  never  guessed,  to 
look  at  him,  that  he'd  ever  been  mixed  up  in  anything 
Hvelier'n  layin'  a  church  cornerstone,  but  it  leaks  out 
that  he  had  been  through  all  kinds  of  scraps  in  India, 
comes  from  the  same  stock  as  the  old  Marquis  of 
Queen  sherry,  and  has  followed  the  ring  more  or  less 
himself. 

"  I  had  the  doubtful  honour,"  says  he,  bringin'  both 
eyes  into  range  on  me,  "  of  backing  a  certain  Mr, 
Palmer,  whom  we  sent  over  here  several  years  ago 
after  a  belt." 

"He  got  more'n  one  belt,"  says  I 
104 


RINKEY   AND   THE   PHONY   LAMP 

"  Quite  so,"  says  he,  almost  crackin'  a  smile ;  "  one 
belt  too  many,  I  fancy." 

Say,  that  was  a  real  puncherino,  eh?  I  ain't  sure 
but  what  he  got  off  more  along  the  same  line,  for  some 
of  them  British  kind  is  hard  to  know  unless  you  see 
'em  printed  in  the  joke  column.  Anyway,  we  has  quite 
a  chin,  and  before  he  left  we  got  real  chummy. 

He  had  a  right  to  be  feelin'  gay,  though;  for  he'd 
come  over  to  marry  a  girl  with  more  real  estate  deeds 
than  you  could  pack  in  a  trunk.  Some  kin  of  Pinck- 
ney's,  this  Miss  Cornerlot  was ;  a  sort  of  faded  flower 
that  had  hung  too  long  on  the  stem.  She'd  run  across 
Sir  Hunter  in  London,  him  bein'  a  widower  that  was 
willin'  to  forget,  and  they'd  made  a  go  of  it,  nobody 
knew  why.  I  judged  that  Pinckney  was  some  relieved 
at  the  prospects  of  placin'  a  misfit.  He'd  laid  out  for 
a  little  dinner  at  the  club,  just  to  introduce  Sir  Hunter 
to  his  set  and  brace  him  up  for  bein'  inspected  by  the 
girl's  aunt  and  other  relations  at  some  swell  doin's 
after. 

I  didn't  pay  much  attention  to  their  program  at 
the  time.  It  wa'n't  any  of  my  funeral  who  Pinckney 
married  off  his  leftover  second  cousins  to;  and  by 
evenin'  I'd  clean  forgot  all  about  Twiggle;  when 
Pinckney  'phones  he'd  be  obliged  if  I  could  step  around 
to  a  Broadway  hotel  right  off,  as  he's  in  trouble. 

Pinckney  meets  me  just  inside  the  plate  glass  merry 

105 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

go  round.  "  Something  is  the  matter  with  Sir  Hun- 
ter," says  he,  "  and  I  can't  find  out  from  his  fool  man 
what  it  is." 

"  Before  we  gets  any  deeper  let's  clear  the  ground," 
says  I.  "  When  you  left  him,  was  he  soused,  or  only 
damp  around  the  edges  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it's  not  that  at  all,"  says  Pinckney.  "  Sir  Hun- 
ter is  a  gentleman — er,  with  a  wonderful  capacity." 

"  The  Hippodrome  tank's  got  that  too,"  I  says ;  "  but 
there's  enough  fancy  drinks  mixed  on  Broadway  every 
afternoon  to  run  it  over." 

Sir  Hunter  has  a  set  of  rooms  on  the  'leventh  floor. 
He  wa'n't  in  sight,  but  we  digs  up  Rinkey.  By  the 
looks,  he'd  just  escaped  from  the  chorus  of  a  musical 
comedy,  or  else  an  Italian  bakery.  Near  as  I  could 
make  out  he  didn't  have  any  proper  clothes  on  at  all, 
but  was  just  done  up  in  white  buntin'  that  was  wrapped 
and  draped  around  him,  like  a  parlour  lamp  on  movin' 
day.  The  spots  of  him  that  you  could  see,  around  the 
back  of  his  neck  and  the  soles  of  his  feet,  was  the 
colour  of  a  twenty-cent  maduro  cigar.  He  was  spread 
out  on  the  rug  with  his  heels  toward  us  and  his  head 
on  the  sill  of  the  door  leadin'  into  the  next  room. 

"  Back  up,  Pinckney !  "  says  I.  "  This  must  be  a 
coloured  prayer  meetin'  we're  buttin'  into." 

"  No,  it's  all  right,"  says  Pinckney.  "  That  is  Sir 
Hunter's  man,  Ringhi  Singh." 

106 


RINKEY  AND  THE  PHONY  LAMP 

"  Sounds  like  a  coon  song,"  says  I.  "  But  he's 
no  valet.  He's  a  cook;  can't  you  see  by  the 
cap?" 

"That's  a  turban,"  says  Pinckney.  "Sir  Hunter 
brought  Ringhi  from  India,  and  he  wears  his  native 
costume." 

"  Gee !  "  says  I.  "  If  that's  his  reg'lar  get  up,  he's 
got  Mark  Twain's  Phoebe  Snow  outfit  beat  a  anile. 
But  does  Rinkey  always  rest  on  his  face  when  he  sits 
down  ?  " 

"  It's  that  position  which  puzzles  me,"  says  Pinck- 
ney. "  All  I  could  get  out  of  him  was  that  Sahib 
Twiggle  was  in  bed,  and  wouldn't  see  anyone." 

"  Oh,  then  the  heathen  is  wise  to  United  States  talk, 
is  he  ?  "  says  I. 

"  He  understands  English,  of  course,"  says  Pinck- 
ney, "  but  he  declines  to  talk." 

"  That's  easy  fixed,"  says  I,  reachin'  out  and  grab- 
bin'  Rinkey  by  the  slack  of  his  bloomers.  "  Maybe  his 
conversation  works  is  out  of  kink,"  and  I  up  ends 
Rinkey  into  a  chair. 

"Be  careful!"  Pinckney  sings  out.  "They're 
treachous  chaps." 

I  had  my  eye  peeled  for  cutlery,  but  he  was  the^ 
mildest  choc'late  cream  you  ever  saw.  He  slumped 
there  on  the  chair,  shiverin'  as  if  he  had  a  chill  comin' 
on,  and  rollin'  his  eyes  like  a  cat  in  a  fit.  He  was  so 

107 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

scared  he  didn't  know  the  day  of  the  month  from  the 
time  of  night. 

"  Cheer  up,  Rinkey,"  says  I,  "  and  act  sociable. 
Now  tell  the  gentleman  what's  ailin'  your  boss." 

It  was  like  talkin'  into  a  'phone  when  the  line's  out 
of  business.  Rinkey  goes  on  sendin'  Morse  wireless 
with  his  teeth,  and  never  unloosens  a  word. 

"  Look  here,  Br'er  Singh,"  says  I,  "  you  ain't  get- 
tin'  any  third  degree — yet !  Cut  out  the  ague  act  and 
give  Mr.  Pinckney  the  straight  talk.  He's  got  a  date 
here  and  wants  to  know  why  the  gate  is  up." 

More  silence  from  Rinkey. 

"  Oh,  well,"  says  I,  "  I  expect  it  ain't  etiquette  to 
jump  the  outside  guard ;  but  if  we're  goin'  to  get  next 
to  Sir  Hunter,  it  looks  like  we  had  to  announce  our- 
selves. Here  goes !  " 

I  starts  for  the  inside  door;  but  I  hadn't  got  my 
knuckles  on  the  panel  before  Rinkey  was  givin' 
me  the  knee  tackle  and  splutterin'  all  kinds  of  lan- 
guage. 

"  Hey !  "  says  I.    "  Got  the  cork  out,  have  you  ?  " 

With  that  Rinkey  gets  up  and  beckons  us  over  into 
the  far  corner. 

"  The  lord  sahib,"  says  he,  rollin'  his  eyes  at  the 
bed  room  door — "  the  lord  sahib  desire  that  none 
should  come  near.  He  is  in  great  anger." 

"  What's  he  grouchy  about  ?  "  says  I. 
108 


RINKEY  AND  THE  PHONY  LAMP 

"  The  lord  sahib,"  says  he,  "  will  destroy  to  death 
poor  Ringhi  Singh  if  he  reveals." 

"  Destroy  to  death  is  good,"  says  I ;  "  but  it  don't 
sound  convincin'.  I  think  we're  bein'  strung." 

Pinckney  has  the  same  idea,  so  I  gets  a  good  grip 
on  Rinkey's  neck. 

"  Come  off ! "  says  I.  "  As  a  liar  you're  too  am- 
bitious. You  tell  us  what's  the  matter  with  your  boss, 
or  I'll  do  things  to  you  that'll  make  bein'  destroyed  to 
death  seem  like  fallin'  on  a  feather  bed !  " 

And  it  come,  quick.  "  Yes,  sahib,"  says  he.  "  It 
is  that  there  has  been  lost  beyond  finding  the  lord 
sahib's  glorious  eye." 

"  Sizzlin'  sisters !  Another  pane  gone ! "  says  I. 
"  This  must  be  my  eye  retrievin'  day,  for  sure." 

But  Pinckney  takes  it  mighty  serious.  He  says  that 
the  dinner  at  the  club  don't  count  for  so  much,  but  that 
the  other  affair  can't  be  sidetracked  so  easy.  It  seems 
that  the  girl  has  lived  through  one  throw  down,  when 
the  feller  skipped  off  to  Europe  just  as  the  tie-up  was 
to  be  posted,  and  it  wouldn't  do  to  give  her  a  second 
scare  of  the  same  kind. 

Rinkey  was  mighty  reluctant  about  goin'  into  de- 
tails, but  we  gets  it  out  of  him  by  degrees  that  the 
lord  sahib  has  a  habit,  when  he's  locked  up  alone,  of 
unscrewin'  the  fake  lamp  and  puttin'  it  away  in  a  box 
full  of  cotton  battin'. 

109 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

"  Always  in  great  secret,"  says  Rinkey ;  "  for  the 
lord  sahib  would  not  disclose.  But  I  have  seen,  which 
was  an  evil  thing— oh,  very  evil !  To-night  it  was 
done  as  before;  but  when  it  was  time  for  the  return, 
alas!  the  box  was  down  side  up  on  the  floor  and  the 
glorious  eye  was  not  anywhere.  Search!  We  look 
into  everything,  under  all  things.  Then  comes  a  great 
rage  on  the  lord  sahib,  and  I  be  sore  from  it  in  many 
places." 

"  That  accounts  for  your  restin'  on  your  face,  eh  ?  " 
says  I.  "  Well,  Pinckney,  what  now  ?  " 

"  Why,"  says  he,  "  we've  simply  got  to  get  a  sub- 
stitute eye.  I'll  wait  here  while  you  go  out  and  buy 
another." 

"  Say,  Pinckney,"  I  says,  "  if  you  was  goin'  down 
Broadway  at  eight-thirty  p.  M.,  shoppin'  for  glass  eyes, 
where'd  you  hit  first?  Would  you  try  a  china  store, 
or  a  gent's  furnishin's  place  ?  " 

"  Don't  they  have  them  at  drug  stores  ?  "  says  Pinck- 
ney. 

"  I  never  seen  any  glass  eye  counters  in  the  ones  I 
go  to,"  says  I.  And  then,  right  in  the  midst  of  our 
battin'  our  heads,  I  comes  to. 

"  Oh,  splash !  "  says  I.  "  Pinckney,  if  anyone  asks 
you,  don't  let  on  what  a  hickory  head  I  am.  Why, 
I've  got  a  glass  eye  that  Sir  Hunter  can  have  the  loan 
of  over  night,  just  as  well  as  not." 

i  id 


RINKEY  AND  THE  PHONY  LAMP 

"  You !  "  says  Pinckney,  lookin'  wild. 

"  Sure  thing,"  says  I.  "  It's  a  beaut,  too.  Can't  a 
feller  own  a  glass  eye  without  wearin'  it  ? " 

"  But  where  is  it?  "  says  Pinckney. 

"  It's  with  Snick  Butters,"  says  I.  "  He's  usin'  it,  I 
expect.  Fact  is,  it  was  built  for  Snick,  but  I  hold  a 
gilt  edged  first  mortgage,  and  all  I  need  to  do  to  fore- 
close is  say  the  word.  Come  on.  Just  as  soon  as  we 
find  Snick  you  can  run  back  and  fix  up  Sir  Hunter  as 
good  as  new." 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  find  him  ?  "  says  Pinckney. 

"  We've  got  to  find  him,"  says  I.  "  I'm  gettin  in- 
terested in  this  game." 

Snick  was  holdin'  down  a  chair  in  the  smokin'  room 
at  the  Gilsey.  He  grins  when  he  sees  me,  but  when  I 
puts  it  up  to  him  about  callin'  in  the  loose  lens  for 
over  night  his  jaw  drops. 

"  Just  my  luck,"  says  he.  "  Here  I've  got  bill  board 
seats  for  the  Casino  and  was  goin'  to  take  the  news- 
stand girl  to  the  show  as  soon  as  she  can  get  off." 

"  Sorry,  Snick,"  says  I,  "  but  this  is  a  desperate  case. 
Won't  she  stand  for  the  green  curtain  ?  " 

"  S-s-sh !  "  says  he.  "  She  don't  know  a  thing  about 
that.  I'll  have  to  call  it  off.  Give  me  two  minutes, 
will  you  ?  " 

That  was  Snick,  all  over — losin'  out  just  as  easy  as 
some  folks  wins.  When  he  comes  back,  though,  and 

ill 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

I  tells  him  what's  doin',  he  says  he'd  like  to  know  just 
where  the  lamp  was  goin',  so  he  could  be  around  after 
it  in  the  mornin'. 

"  Sure,"  says  I.  "  Bring  it  along  up  with  you,  then 
there  won't  be  any  chance  of  our  losin'  it." 

So  all  three  of  us  goes  back  to  the  hotel.  Pinckney 
wa'n't  sayin'  a  word,  actin'  like  he  was  kind  of  dazed, 
but  watchin'  Snick  all  the  time.  As  we  gets  into  the 
elevator,  he  pulls  me  by  the  sleeve  and  whispers : 

"  I  say,  Shorty,  which  one  is  it  ?  " 

"  The  south  one,"  says  I. 

It  wasn't  till  we  got  clear  into  Sir  Hunter's  recep- 
tion room,  under  the  light,  that  Pinckney  heaves  up 
something  else. 

"  Oh,  I  say !  "  says  he,  starin'  at  Snick.  "  Beg  par- 
don for  mentioning  it,  but  yours  is  a — er — you  have 
blue  eyes,  haven't  you,  Mr.  Butters  ?  " 

"  That's  right,"  says  Snick. 

"And  Sir  Hunter's  are  brown.  It  will  never  do," 
says  he. 

"Ah,  what's  the  odds  at  night?"  says  I.  "Maybe 
the  girl's  colour  blind,  anyway." 

"  No,"  says  Pinckney,  "  Sir  Hunter  would  never 
do  it.  Now,  if  you  only  knew  of  some  one  with 
a " 

"  I  don't,"  says  I.  "  Snick's  the  only  glass  eyed 
friend  I  got  on  my  repertoire.  It's  either  his  or  none. 

112 


RINKEY  AND  THE   PHONY   LAMP 

You  send  Rinkey  in  to  ask  Twiggle  if  a  blue  one 
won't  do  on  a  pinch." 

Mr.  Rinkey  didn't  like  the  sound  of  that  program  a 
bit,  and  he  goes  to  clawin'  around  my  knees,  beggin' 
me  not  to  send  him  in  to  the  lord  sahib. 

"  G'wan  !  "  says  I,  pushin'  him  off.  "  You  make  me 
feel  as  if  I  was  bein'  measured  for  a  pair  of  leggin's. 
Skiddo ! " 

As  I  gives  him  a  shove  my  finger  catches  in  the 
white  stuff  he  has  around  his  head,  and  it  begins  to 
unwind.  I'd  peeled  off  about  a  yard,  when  out  rolls 
somethin'  shiny  that  Snick  spots  and  made  a  grab 
for. 

"  Hello !  "  says  he.     "  What's  this  ?  " 

It  was  the  stray  brown,  all  right.  That  Kipling 
coon  has  had  it  stowed  away  all  the  time.  Well  say, 
there  was  lively  doin's  in  that  room  for  the  next  few 
minutes;  me  tryin'  to  get  a  strangle  hold  on  Rinkey, 
and  him  doin'  his  best  to  jump  through  a  window, 
chairs  bein'  knocked  over,  Snick  hoppin'  around  tryin' 
to  help,  and  Pinckney  explainin'  to  Sir  Hunter  through 
the  keyhole  what  it  was  all  about. 

When  it  was  through  we  held  a  court  of  inquiry. 
And  what  do  you  guess  ?  That  smoked  Chinaman  had 
swiped  it  on  purpose,  thinkin'  if  he  wore  it  on  the  back 
of  his  head  he  could  see  behind  him.  Wouldn't  that 
grind  you? 

"3 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

But  it  all  comes  out  happy.  Sir  Hunter  was  a  little 
late  for  dinner,  but  he  shows  up  two  eyed  before  the 
girl,  makes  a  hit  with  her  folks,  and  has  engaged  Snick 
to  give  him  private  lessons  on  how  to  make  a  fake 
optic  behave  like  the  real  goods. 


VIII 

PINCKNEY  AND  THE  TWINS 

SAY,  when  it  comes  to  gettin'  himself  tangled  up  in 
ways  that  nobody  ever  thought  of  before,  you  can  play 
Pinckney  clear  across  the  board.  But  I  never  knew 
him  to  send  out  such  a  hard  breathin'  hurry  call  as 
the  one  I  got  the  other  day.  It  come  first  thing  in  the 
mornin'  too,  just  about  the  time  Pinckney  used  to  be 
tearin'  off  the  second  coupon  from  the  slumber  card. 
I  hadn't  more'n  got  inside  the  Studio  door  before 
Swifty  Joe  says: 

"  Pinckney's  been  tryin'  to  get  you  on  the  wire." 

"  Gee !  "  says  I,  "  he's  stayin'  up  late  last  night  I 
Did  he  leave  the  number  ?  " 

He  had,  and  it  was  a  sixty-cent  long  distance  call; 
so  the  first  play  I  makes  when  I  rings  up  is  to  reverse 
the  charge. 

"That  you,  Shorty?"  says  he.  "Then  for  good- 
ness' sake  come  up  here  on  the  next  train !  Will  you  ?  " 

"  House  afire,  bone  in  your  throat,  or  what  ?  "  says  I. 

"  It's  those  twins,"  says  he. 

"  Bad  as  that?  "  says  I.    "  Then  I'll  come." 

Wa'n't  I  tellin*  you  about  the  pair  of  mated  orphans 

"5 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

that  was  shipped  over  to  him  unexpected;  and  how 
Miss  Gertie,  the  Western  blush  rose  that  was  on  the 
steamer  with  'em,  helps  him  out?  Well,  the  last  I 
hears,  Pinckney  is  gone  on  Miss  Gertie  and  gettin' 
farther  from  sight  every  minute.  He's  planned  it  out 
to  have  the  knot  tied  right  away,  hire  a  furnished  cot- 
tage for  the  summer,  and  put  in  the  honeymoon  get- 
tin'  acquainted  with  the  ready  made  family  that  they 
starts  in  with.  Great  scheme!  Suits  Pinckney  right 
down  to  the  ground,  because  it's  different.  He  be- 
gins by  accumulatin'  a  pair  of  twins,  next  he  finds  a 
girl  and  then  he  thinks  about  gettin'  married.  By  the 
way  he  talked,  I  thought  it  was  all  settled ;  but  hearin' 
this  whoop  for  help  I  suspicioned  there  must  be  some 
hitch. 

There  wa'n't  any  carnation  in  his  buttonhole  when 
he  meets  me  at  the  station ;  he  hasn't  shaved  since  the 
day  before ;  and  there's  trouble  tracks  on  his  brow. 

"  Can't  you  stand  married  life  better'n  this?  "  says  I. 

"  Married !  "  says  he.  "  No  such  luck.  I  never  ex- 
pect to  be  married,  Shorty ;  I'm  not  fit." 

"  Is  this  a  decision  that  was  handed  you,  or  was  it 
somethin'  you  found  out  for  yourself?"  says  I. 

"  It's  my  own  discovery,"  says  he. 

"  Then  there's  hope,"  says  I.  "  So  the  twins  have 
been  gettin'  you  worried,  eh  ?  Where's  Miss  Gertie  ?  " 

That  gives  Pinckney  the  hard  luck  cue,  and  while 
116 


PINCKNEY   AND   THE   TWINS 

we  jogs  along  towards  his  new  place  in  the  tub  cart 
he  tells  me  all  about  what's  been  happenin'.  First  off 
he  owns  up  that  he's  queered  his  good  start  with  Miss 
Gertie  by  bein'  in  such  a  rush  to  flash  the  solitaire 
spark  on  her.  She  ain't  used  to  Pinckney's  jumpy 
ways.  They  hadn't  been  acquainted  much  more'n  a 
week,  and  he  hadn't  gone  through  any  of  the  pre- 
lim's, when  he  ups  and  asks  her  what  day  it  will  be 
and  whether  she  chooses  church  or  parsonage.  Course 
she  shies  at  that,  and  the  next  thing  Pinckney  knows 
she's  taken  a  train  West,  leavin'  him  with  the  twins  on 
his  hands,  and  a  nice  little  note  sayin'  that  while  she 
appreciates  the  honour  she's  afraid  he  won't  do. 

"  And  you're  left  at  the  post?  "  says  I. 

"  Yes,"  says  he.  "  I  couldn't  take  the  twins  and 
follow  her,  but  I  could  telegraph.  My  first  message 
read  like  this,  '  What's  the  matter  with  me  ? '  Here 
is  her  answer  to  that,"  and  he  digs  up  a  yellow  en- 
velope from  his  inside  pocket. 

"  Not  domestic  enough.  G."  It  was  short  and 
crisp. 

He  couldn't  give  me  his  come  back  to  that,  for  he . 
said  it  covered  three  blanks ;  but  it  was  meant  to  be  an 
ironclad  affidavit  that  he  could  be  just  as  domestic  as 
the  next  man,  if  he  only  had  a  chance. 

"And  then?"  says  I. 

"Read  it,"  says  he,  handin'  over  Exhibit  Two. 
117 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

"  You  have  the  chance  now,"  it  says.  "  Manage  the 
twins  for  a  month,  and  I  will  believe  you." 

And  that  was  as  far  as  he  could  get.  Now,  first 
and  last,  I  guess  there's  been  dozens  of  girls,  not  count- 
in'  all  kinds  of  widows,  that's  had  their  lassoes  out  for 
Pinckney.  He's  been  more  or  less  interested  in  some ; 
but  when  he  really  runs  across  one  that's  worth  tag- 
gin'  she  does  the  sudden  duck  and  runs  him  up  against 
a  game  like  this. 

"  And  you're  tryin'  to  make  good,  eh  ? "  says  I. 
"  What's  your  program  ?  " 

For  Pinckney,  he  hadn't  done  so  worse.  First  he 
hunts  up  the  only  aunt  he's  got  on  his  list.  She's  a 
wide,  heavy  weight  old  girlt  that's  lost  or  mislaid 
a  couple  of  husbands,  but  hasn't  ever  had  any  kids  of 
her  own,  and  puts  in  her  time  goin'  to  Europe  and 
comin'  back.  She  was  just  havin'  the  trunks  checked 
for  Switzerland  when  Pinckney  locates  her  and  tells 
how  glad  he  is  to  see  her  again.  Didn't  she  want  to 
change  her  plans  and  stay  a  month  or  so  with  him  and 
the  twins  at  some  nice  place  up  in  Westchester?  One 
glimpse  of  Jack  and  Jill  with  their  comp'ny  manners 
on  wins  her.  Sure,  she  will ! 

So  it's  up  to  Pinckney  to  hire  a  happy  home  for 
the  summer,  all  found.  Got  any  idea  of  how  he 
tackles  a  job  like  that?  Most  folks  would  take  a 
week  off  and  do  a  lot  of  travelling  sizin'  up  different 

118 


PINCKNEY   AND   THE   TWINS 

joints.  They'd  want  to  know  how  many  bath  rooms, 
if  there  was  malaria,  and  all  about  the  plumbin',  and 
what  the  neighbours  was  like.  But  livin'  at  the  club 
don't  put  you  wise  to  them  tricks.  Pinckney,  he  just 
rings  up  a  real  estate  agent,  gets  him  to  read  off  a  list, 
says,  "  I'll  take  No.  3,"  and  it's  all  over.  Next  day 
they  move  out. 

Was  he  stung?  Well,  not  so  bad  as  you'd  think. 
Course,  he's  stuck  about  two  prices  for  rent,  and  he 
signs  a  lease  without  readin'  farther  than  the  "  Where- 
as " ;  but,  barrin'  a  few  things  like  haircloth  furniture 
and  rooms  that  have  been  shut  up  so  long  they  smell 
like  the  subcellars  in  a  brewery,  he  says  the  ranch 
wa'n't  so  bad.  The  outdoors  was  good,  anyway. 
There  was  lots  of  it,  acres  and  acres,  with  trees,  and 
flower  gardens,  and  walks,  and  fish  ponds,  and  every- 
thing you  could  want  for  a  pair  of  youngsters  that 
needed  room.  I  could  see  that  myself. 

"  Say,  Pinckney,"  says  I,  as  we  drives  in  through 
the  grounds,  "  if  you  can't  get  along  with  Jack  and  Jill 
in  a  place  of  this  kind  you'd  better  give  up.  Why, 
all  you  got  to  do  is  to  turn  'em  loose." 

"  Wait !  "  says  he.     "  You  haven't  heard  it  all." 

"  Let  it  come,  then,"  says  I. 

"  We  will  look  at  the  house  first,"  says  he. 

The  kids  wa'n't  anywhere  in  sight;  so  we  starts 
right  in  on  the  tour  of  inspection.  It  was  a  big,  old, 

119 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

slate  roofed  baracks,  with  jigsaw  work  on  the  eaves, 
and  a  lot  of  dinky  towers  frescoed  with  lightnin'  rods. 
There  was  furniture  to  match,  mostly  the  marble 
topped,  black  walnut  kind,  that  was  real  stylish  back 
in  the  'yo's. 

In  the  hall  we  runs  across  Snivens.  He  was  the 
butler;  but  you  wouldn't  guess  it  unless  you  was  told. 
Kind  of  a  cross  between  a  horse  doctor  and  a  mis- 
sionary, I  should  call  him — one  of  these  short  legged, 
barrel  podded  gents,  with  a  pair  of  white  wind  harps 
framin'  up  a  putty  coloured  face  that  was  ornamented 
with  a  set  of  the  solemnest  lookin'  lamps  you  ever  saw 
off  a  stuffed  owl. 

"  Gee,  Pinckney ! "  says  I,  "  who  unloaded  that  on 
you!" 

"  Snivens  came  with  the  place/'  says  he. 

"  He  looks  it,"  says  I.  "  I  should  think  that  face 
would  sour  milk.  Don't  he  scare  the  twins  ?  " 

"  Frighten  Jack  and  Jill  ?  "  says  Pinckney.  "  Not  if 
he  had  horns  and  a  tail !  They  seem  to  take  him  as  a 
joke.  But  he  does  make  all  the  rest  of  us  feel  creepy." 

"  Why  don't  you  write  him  his  release  ?  "  says  I. 

"  Can't,"  says  Pinckney.  "  He  is  one  of  the  con- 
ditions in  the  contract — he  and  the  urns." 

"  The  urns  ?  "  says  I. 

"  Yes,"  says  Pinckney,  sighin'  deep.  "  We  are 
coming  to  them  now.  There  they  are." 

120 


PINCKNEY   AND    THE   TWINS 

With  that  we  steps  into  one  of  the  front  rooms,  and 
he  lines  me  up  before  a  white  marble  mantel  that  is 
just  as  cheerful  and  tasty  as  some  of  them  pieces  in 
Greenwood  Cemetery.  On  either  end  was  what  looks 
to  be  a  bronze  flower  pot. 

"  To  your  right,"  says  Pinckney,  "  is  Grandfather ; 
to  your  left,  Aunt  Sabina." 

"What's  the  josh?"  says  I. 

"  Shorty/'  says  he,  heavin'  up  another  sigh,  "  you 
are  now  in  the  presence  of  sacred  dust.  These  urns 
contain  the  sad  fragments  of  two  great  Van  Rusters." 

"  Fragments  is  good,"  says  I.  "  Couldn't  find  many 
to  keep,  could  they?  Did  they  go  up  with  a  powder 
mill,  or  fall  into  a  stone  crusher?  " 

"  Cremated/'  says  Pinckney. 

Then  I  gets  the  whole  story  of  the  two  old  maids 
that  Pinckney  rented  the  place  from.  They  were  the 
last  of  the  clan.  In  their  day  the  Van  Rusters  had 
headed  the  Westchester  battin'  list,  ownin'  about  half 
the  county  and  gettin'  their  names  in  the  paper  reg'lar. 
But  they'd  been  peterin'  out  for  the  last  hundred  years 
or  so,  and  when  it  got  down  to  the  Misses  Van  Rus- 
ters, a  pair  of  thin  edged,  old  battle  axes  that  had 
never  wore  anything  but  crape  and  jet  bonnets,  there 
wa'n't  much  left  of  the  estate  except  the  mortgages 
and  the  urns. 

Rentin'  the  place  furnished  was  the  last  card  in  the 
121 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

box,  and  Pinckney  turns  up  as  the  willin'  victim. 
When  he  comes  to  size  up  what  he's  drawn,  and  has 
read  over  the  lease,  he  finds  he's  put  his  name  to  a 
lot  he  didn't  dream  about.  Keepin'  Snivens  on  the 
pay  roll,  promisin'  not  to  disturb  the  urns,  usin'  the 
furniture  careful,  and  havin'  the  grass  cut  in  the  pri- 
vate buryin'  lot  was  only  a  few  that  he  could  think  of 
off  hand. 

"  You  ain't  a  tenant,  Pinckney,"  says  I ;  "  you're  a 
philanthropist." 

"I  feel  that  way,"  says  he.  "At  first,  I  didn't 
know  which  was  worse,  Snivens  or  the  urns.  But  I 
know  now — it  is  the  urns.  They  are  driving  me  to 
distraction." 

"  Ah,  do  a  lap ! "  says  I.  "  Course,  I  give  in  that 
there,  might  be  better  parlour  ornaments  than  potted 
ancestors,  specially  when  they  belong  to  someone 
else;  but  they  don't  come  extra,  do  they?  I  thought 
it  was  the  twins  that  was  worryin'  you  ?  " 

"  That  is  where  the  urns  come  in,"  says  he.  "  Here 
the  youngsters  are  now.  Step  back  in  here  and 
watch." 

He  pulls  me  into  the  next  room,  where  we  could 
see  through  the  draperies.  There's  a  whoop  and  a 
hurrah  outside,  the  door  bangs,  and  in  tumbles  the 
kids,  with  a  nurse  taggin'  on  behind.  The  youngsters 
makes  a  bee  line  for  the  mantelpiece  and  sings  out: 

122 


PINCKNEY   AND   THE   TWINS 

"  Hello,  Grandfather !  Hello,  Aunt  Sabina !  Look 
what  we  brought  this  time!" 

"  Stop  it !  Stop  it !  "  says  the  nurse,  her  eyes  bug- 
gin'  out. 

"  Boo !  Fraid  cat ! "  yells  the  twins,  and  nursy 
skips.  Then  they  begins  to  unload  the  stuff  they've 
lugged  in,  pilin'  it  up  alongside  the  urns,  singin'  out 
like  auctioneers,  "  There's  some  daisies  for  Aunt 
Sabina!  And  wild  strawberries  for  Grandfather! 
And  a  mud  turtle  for  aunty!  And  a  bird's  nest  for 
Grandfather !  "  windin'  up  the  performance  by  joinin' 
hands  and  goin'  through  a  reg'lar  war  dance. 

Pinckney  explains  how  this  was  only  a  sample  of 
what  had  been  goin'  on  ever  since  they  heard  Snivens 
tellin'  what  was  in  the  urns.  They'd  stood  by,  listen- 
in'  with  their  mouths  and  ears  wide  open,  and  then 
they'd  asked  questions  until  everyone  was  wore  out 
tryin'  to  answer  'em.  But  the  real  woe  came  when  the 
yarn  got  around  among  the  servants  and  they  begun 
leavin'  faster'n  Pinckney 's  Aunt  Mary  could  send  out 
new  ones  from  town. 

"  Maybe  the  kids'll  get  tired  of  it  in  a  few  days," 
says  I. 

"  Exactly  what  I  thought,"  says  Pinckney ;  "  but 
they  don't.  It's  the  best  game  they  can  think  of,  and 
if  I  allow  them  they  will  stay  in  here  by  the  hour, 
cutting  up  for  the  benefit  of  Grandfather  and  Aunt 

123 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

Sabina.  It's  morbid.  It  gets  on  one's  nerves.  My 
aunt  says  she  can't  stand  it  much  longer,  and  if  she 
goes  I  shall  have  to  break  up.  If  you're  a  friend  of 
mine,  Shorty,  you'll  think  of  some  way  to  get  those 
youngsters  interested  in  something  else." 

"  Why  don't  you  buy  'em  a  pony  cart  ?  "  says  I. 

"  I've  bought  two,"  says  he ;  "  and  games  and  candy 
and  parrots  and  mechanical  toys  enough  to  stock  a 
store.  Still  they  keep  this  thing  up." 

"  And  if  you  quit  the  domestic  game,  the  kids  have 
to  go  to  some  home,  and  you  go  back  to  the  club  ?  " 
says  I. 

"  That's  it,"  says  he. 

"  And  when  Miss  Gertie  comes  on,  and  finds  you've 
renigged,  it's  all  up  between  you  and  her,  eh  ? " 
says  I. 

Pinckney  groans. 

"  G'wan !  "  says  I.     "  Go  take  a  sleep." 

With  that  I  steps  in  and  shows  myself  to  the  kids. 
They  yells  and  makes  a  dash  for  me.  Inside  of  two 
minutes  I've  been  introduced  to  Grandfather  and  Aunt 
Sabina,  made  to  do  a  duck  before  both  jars,  and  am 
planted  on  the  haircloth  sofa  with  a  kid  holdin'  either 
arm,  while  they  puts  me  through  the  third  degree. 
They  want  information. 

"Did  you  ever  see  folks  burned  and  put  in  jars?" 
says  Jack. 

124 


PtNCKNEY   AND   THE   TWINS 

"  No,"  says  I ;  "  but  I've  seen  pickled  ones  jugged. 
I  hear  you've  got  some  ponies." 

"  Two,"  says  Jill ;  "  spotted  ones.  Would  you  want 
to  be  burned  after  you  was  a  deader?  " 

"  Better  after  than  before,"  says  I.  "  Where's  the 
ponies  now  ?  " 

"  What  do  the  ashes  look  like?  "  says  Jack. 

"  Are  there  any  clinkers  ?  "  says  Jill. 

Say,  I  was  down  and  out  in  the  first  round.  For 
every  word  I  could  get  in  about  ponies  they  got  in 
ten  about  them  bloomin'  jars,  and  when  I  leaves  'em 
they  was  organism'  a  circus,  with  Grandfather  and 
Aunt  Sabina  supposed  to  be  occupyin'  the  reserved 
seats.  Honest,  it  was  enough  to  chill  the  spine  of  a 
morgue  keeper.  By  good  luck  I  runs  across  Snivens 
snoopin'  through  the  hall. 

"  See  here,  you !  "  says  I.     "  I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir,"  says  he,  backin'  off,  real  stiff 
and  dignified ;  "  but " 

"  Ah,  chuck  it !  "  says  I,  reachin'  out  and  gettin' 
hold  of  his  collar,  playful  like.  "  You've  been  listen- 
in'  at  the  door.  Now  what  do  you  think  of  the  way 
them  kids  is  carryin'  on  in  there?  " 

"  It's  outrageous,  sir !  "  says  he,  puffin'  up  his  cheeks, 
"  It's  scandalous !  They're  young  imps,  so  they  are, 
sir." 

"  Want  to  stop  all  that  nonsense  ?  "  says  I. 
125 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

He  says  he  does. 

"  Then,"  says  I,  "  you  take  them  jars  down  cellar 
and  hide  'em  in  the  coal  bin." 

He  holds  up  both  hands  at  that.  "  It  can't  be  done, 
sir,"  says  he.  "  They've  been  right  there  for  twenty 
years  without  bein'  so  much  as  moved.  They  were 
very  superior  folks,  sir,  very  superior." 

"  Couldn't  you  put  'em  in  the  attic,  then  ?  "  says  I. 

He  couldn't.  He  says  it's  in  the  lease  that  the 
jars  wa'n't  to  be  touched. 

"  Snivens,"  says  I,  shovin'  a  twenty  at  him,  "  forget 
the  lease." 

Say,  he  looks  at  that  yellowback  as  longin'  as  an 
East  Side  kid  sizin'  up  a  fruit  cart.  Then  he  gives  a 
shiver  and  shakes  his  head.  "  Not  for  a  thousand, 
sir,"  says  he.  "  I  wouldn't  dare." 

"  You're  an  old  billygoat,  Snivens,"  says  I. 

And  that's  all  the  good  I  did  with  my  little  whirl 
at  the  game ;  but  I  tries  to  cheer  Pinckney  up  by  tellin' 
him  the  kids  wa'n't  doin'  any  harm. 

"  But  they  are,"  says  Pinckney.  "  They're  raising 
the  very  mischief  with  my  plans.  The  maids  are 
scared  to  death.  They  say  the  house  is  haunted.  Four 
of  them  gave  notice  to-day.  Aunt  Mary  is  packing 
her  trunks,  and  that  means  that  I  might  as  well  give 
up.  I'll  inquire  about  a  home  to  send  them  to  this 
afternoon." 

126 


PINCKNEY   AND   THE   TWINS 

I  guess  it  was  about  four  o'clock,  and  I  was  tryin' 
to  take  a  snooze  in  a  hammock  on  the  front  porch, 
when  I  hears  the  twins  makin'  life  miserable  for  the 
gard'ner  that  was  fixin'  the  rose  bushes. 

"  Lemme  dig,  Pat,"  says  Jill. 

"  G'wan,  ye  young  tarrier !  "  says  Pat. 

"  Can't  I  help  some  ?  "  says  Jack. 

"  Yes,  if  ye'll  go  off  about  a  mile,"  says  Pat. 

"  Why  don't  the  roses  grow  any  more  ?  "  asks  Jill. 

"  It's  needin'  ashes  on  'em  they  are,"  says  Pat. 

"  Ashes  1 "  says  Jack. 

"Ashes!"  says  Jill. 

Then  together,  "  Oh,  we  know  where  there's  ashes — 
lots!" 

"  We'll  fetch  'em ! "  says  Jill,  and  with  that  I  hears 
a  scamperin'  up  the  steps. 

I  was  just  gettin'  up  to  chase  after  'em,  when  I 
has  another  thought.  "What's  the  use,  anyway?" 
thinks  I.  "  It's  their  last  stunt"  So  I  turns  over 
and  pretends  to  snooze. 

When  Pinckney  shows  up  about  six  the  twins  has 
the  pony  carts  out  and  is  doin'  a  chariot  race  around 
the  drive,  as  happy  and  innocent  as  a  couple  of  pink 
angels.  Then  they  eats  their  supper  and  goes  to  bed, 
with  nary  a  mention  of  say  in'  good-night  to  the  jars, 
like  they'd  been  in  the  habit  of  doin'.  Next  mornin' 
they  gets  up  as  frisky  as  colts  and  goes  out  to  play 

127 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

wild  Indians  in  the  bushes.  They  was  at  it  all  the 
forenoon,  and  never  a  word  about  Grandfather  and 
Aunt  Sabina.  Pinckney  notices  it,  but  he  don't  dare 
speak  of  it  for  fear  he'll  break  the  spell.  About  two 
he  comes  in  with  a  telegram. 

"  Miss  Gertie's  coming  on  the  four  o'clock  train," 
says  he,  lookin'  wild. 

"  You  don't  act  like  you  was  much  tickled,"  says  I. 

"  She's  sure  to  find  out  what  a  muss  I've  made  of 
things,"  says  he.  "  The  moment  she  gets  here  I  expect 
the  twins  will  start  up  that  confounded  rigmarole 
about  Grandfather  and  Aunt  Sabina  again.  Oh,  I 
can  hear  them  doing  it !  " 

I  let  it  go  at  that.  But  while  he's  away  at  the 
station  the  kitchen  talk  breaks  loose.  The  cook  and 
two  maids  calls  for  Aunt  Mary,  tells  her  what  they 
think  of  a  place  that  has  canned  spooks  in  the  par- 
lour, and  starts  for  the  trolley.  Aunt  Mary  gets  her 
bonnet  on  and  has  her  trunks  lugged  down  on  the 
front  porch.  That's  the  kind  of  a  reception  we  has 
for  Miss  Gertrude  and  her  mother  when  they  show  up. 

"Anything  particular  the  matter?"  whispers  Pinck- 
ney to  me,  as  he  hands  the  guests  out  of  the  carriage. 

"  Nothin'  much,"  says  I.  "  Me  and  Snivens  and 
the  twins  is  left.  The  others  have  gone  or  are  goin'." 

"What  is  the  matter?"  says  Miss  Gertie. 

"  Everything,"  says  Pinckney.  "  I've  made  a  flat 
128 


PINCKNEY   AND    THE   TWINS 

failure.  Shorty,  you  bring  in  the  twins  and  we'll  end 
this  thing  right  now." 

Well,  I  rounds  up  Jack  and  Jill,  and  after  they've 
hugged  Miss  Gertie  until  her  travelin'  dress  is  fixed 
for  a  week  at  the  cleaners',  Pinckney  leads  us  all  into 
the  front  room.  The  urns  was  there  on  the  mantel; 
but  the  kids  don't  even  give  'em  a  look. 

"  Come  on,  you  young  rascals !  "  says  he,  as  des- 
perate as  if  he  was  pleadin'  guilty  to  blowin'  up  a  safe. 
"  Tell  Miss  Gertrude  about  Grandfather  and  Aunt 
Sabina." 

"  Oh,"  says  Jack,  "  they're  out  in  the  flower  bed." 

"  We  fed  'em  to  the  rose  bushes,"  says  Jill. 

"We  didn't  like  to  lose  'em,"  says  Jack;  "but  Pat 
needed  the  ashes." 

"  It's  straight  goods/'  says  I ;  "  I  was  there." 

And  say,  when  Miss  Gertrude  hears  the  whole 
yarn  about  the  urns,  and  the  trouble  they've  made 
Pinckney,  she  stops  laughin'  and  holds  out  one  hand 
to  him  over  Jill's  shoulder. 

"  You  poor  boy !  "  says  she.  "  Didn't  you  ever  read 
Omar's — 

"  I  sometimes  think  that  never  blows  so  red 
The  rose,  as  where  some  buried  Caesar  bled '  ?  " 

Say,  who  was  this  duck  Omar?  And  what's  that 
got  to  do  with  fertilisin'  flower  beds  with  the  pulver- 

129 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

ised  relations  of  your  landladies?  I  give  it  up.  All 
I  know  is  that  Pinckney's  had  them  jars  refilled  with 
A-i  wood  ashes,  that  Aunt  Mary  managed  to  'phone 
up  a  new  set  of  help  before  mornin',  and  that  when 
I  left  Pinckney  and  Miss  Gertie  and  the  twins  was 
strollin'  about,  holdin'  hands  and  lookin'  to  be  havin' 
the  time  of  their  lives. 

Domestic?    Say,  a  clear  Havana  Punko,  made  in 
Connecticut,  ain't  in  it  with  him. 


130 


IX 

A  LINE  ON  PEACOCK  ALLEY 

WHAT'S  the  use  of  traveling  when  there's  more  fun 
stayin'  home?  Scenery?  Say,  the  scenery  that  suits 
me  best  is  the  kind  they  keep  lit  up  all  night.  There's 
a  lot  of  it  between  I4th-st.  and  the  park.  Folks? 
Why,  you  stand  on  the  corner  of  426.  and  Broadway 
long  enough  and  you  won't  miss  seein'  many  of  'em. 
They  most  all  get  here  sooner  or  later. 

Now,  look  at  what  happens  last  evenin'.  I  was  just 
leanin'  up  against  the  street  door,  real  comfortable  and 
satisfied  after  a  good  dinner,  when  Swifty  Joe  comes 
down  from  the  Studio  and  says  there's  a  party  by  the 
name  of  Merrity  been  callin'  me  up  on  the  'phone. 

"Merrity?"  says  I.  "That  sounds  kind  of  joyous 
and  familiar.  Didn't  he  give  any  letters  for  the  front 
of  it?" 

"  Nothin'  but  Hank,"  says  Swifty. 

"Oh,  yes,"  says  I,  gettin'  the  clue.  "What  did 
Hank  have  to  say  ?  " 

"  Said  he  was  a  friend  of  yours,  and  if  you  didn't 
have  nothin'  better  on  the  hook  he'd  like  to  see  you 
around  the  Wisteria/'  says  Swifty. 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

With  that  I  lets  loose  a  snicker.  Honest,  I  couldn't 
help  it. 

"  Ah,  chee !  "  says  Swifty.  "  Is  it  a  string,  or  not  ? 
I  might  get  a  laugh  out  of  this  myself." 

"  Yes,  and  then  again  you  mightn't,"  says  I.  "  May- 
be it'd  bring  on  nothin'  but  a  brain  storm.  You  wait 
until  I  find  out  if  it's  safe  to  tell  you." 

With  that  I  starts  down  towards  34th-st.  to  see  if 
it  was  really  so  about  Hank  Merrity;  for  the  last 
glimpse  I  got  of  him  he  was  out  in  Colorado,  wearin' 
spurs  and  fringed  buckskin  pants,  and  lookin'  to  be 
as  much  of  a  fixture  there  as  Pike's  Peak. 

It  was  while  I  was  trainin'  for  one  of  my  big 
matches,  that  I  met  up  with  Hank.  We'd  picked  out 
Bedelia  for  a  camp.  You've  heard  of  Bedelia?  No? 
Then  you  ought  to  study  the  map.  Anyway,  if  you'd 
been  followin'  the  sportin'  news  reg'lar  a  few  years 
back,  you'd  remember.  There  was  a  few  days  about 
that  time  when  more  press  despatches  was  filed  from 
Bedelia  than  from  Washington.  And  the  pictures 
that  was  sent  east ;  "  Shorty  Ropin'  Steers  "— "  Mr. 
McCabe  Swingin'  a  Bronco  by  the  Tail,"  and  all  such 
truck.  You  know  the  kind  of  stuff  them  newspaper 
artists  strains  their  imaginations  on. 

Course,  I  was  too  busy  to  bother  about  what  they 
did  to  me,  and  didn't  care,  anyway.  But  it  was  dif- 
ferent with  Hank.  Oh,  they  got  him  too !  You  see, 

132 


A  LINE    ON    PEACOCK   ALLEY 

he  had  a  ranch  about  four  miles  north  of  our  camp, 
and  one  of  my  reg'lar  forenoon  stunts  was  to  gallop 
up  there,  take  a  big  swig  of  mountain  spring  water 
— better'n  anything  you  can  buy  in  bottles — chin  a 
few  minutes  with  Hank  and  the  boys,  and  then  dog 
trot  it  back. 

That  was  how  the  boss  of  Merrity's  ranch  came 
to  get  his  picture  in  the  sportin'  page  alongside  of  a 
diagram  of  the  four  different  ways  I  had  of  peelirf 
a  boiled  potato.  Them  was  the  times  when  I  took  my 
exercise  with  a  sportin'  editor  hangin'  to  each  elbow, 
and  fellows  with  drawin'  pads  squattin'  all  over  the 
place.  Just  for  a  josh  I  lugged  one  of  the  papers  that 
had  a  picture  of  Hank  up  to  the  ranch,  expectin'  when 
he  saw  it,  he'd  want  to  buckle  on  his  guns  and  start 
down  after  the  gent  that  did  it. 

You  couldn't  have  blamed  him  much  if  he  had ;  for 
Hank's  features  wa'n't  cut  on  what  you  might  call 
classic  lines.  He  looked  more  like  a  copy  of  an  old 
master  that  had  been  done  by  a  sign  painter  on  the 
side  of  a  barn.  Not  that  he  was  so  mortal  homely,  but 
his  colour  scheme  was  kind  of  surprisin'.  His  com- 
plexion was  a  shade  or  two  lighter  than  a  new  saddle, 
except  his  neck,  which  was  a  flannel  red,  with  lovely 
brown  speckles  on  it ;  and  his  eyes  was  sort  of  butter- 
milk blue,  with  eyebrows  that  you  had  to  guess  at. 
His  chief  decoration  though,  was  a  lip  whisker  that 

133 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

was  a  marvel — one  of  these  ginger  coloured  droopers 
that  took  root  way  down  below  his  mouth  corners  and 
looked  like  it  was  there  to  stay. 

But  up  on  the  ranch  and  down  in  Bedelia  I  never 
heard  anyone  pass  remarks  on  Hank  Merrity's  looks. 
He  wa'n't  no  bad  man  either,  but  as  mild  and  gentle 
a  beef  raiser  as  you'd  want  to  see.  He  seemed  to  be 
quite  a  star  among  the  cow  punchers,  and  after  I'd 
got  used  to  his  peculiar  style  of  beauty  I  kind  of  took 
to  him,  too. 

The  picture  didn't  r'ile  him  a  bit.  He  sat  there 
lookin'  at  it  for  a  good  five  minutes  without  sayin'  a 
word,  them  buttermilk  eyes  just  starin',  kind  of  blank 
and  dazed.  Then  he  looks  up,  as  pleased  as  a  kid, 
and  says,  "  Wall,  I'll  be  cussed !  Mighty  slick,  ain't 
it?" 

Next  he  hollers  for  Reney — that  was  Mrs.  Merrity. 
She  was  a  good  sized,  able  bodied  wild  rose,  Reney 
was;  not  such  a  bad  looker,  but  a  little  shy  on  style. 
A  calico  wrapper  with  the  sleeves  rolled  up,  a  lot  of 
crinkly  brown  hair  wavin'  down  her  back,  and  an  old 
pair  of  carpet  slippers  on  her  feet,  was  Reney's  morn- 
in'  costume.  I  shouldn't  wonder  but  what  it  did  for 
afternoon  and  evenin'  as  well. 

Mrs.  Merrity  was  more  tickled  with  the  picture  than 
Hank.  She  stared  from  the  paper  to  him  and  back 
again,  actin'  like  she  thought  Hank  had  done  some- 

134 


A  LINE    ON    PEACOCK   ALLEY 

thin'  she  ought  to  be  proud  of,  but  couldn't  exactly 
place. 

"  Sho,  Hank !  "  says  she.  "  I  wisht  they'd  waited 
uritil  you'd  put  on  your  Sunday  shirt  and  slicked  up  a 
little." 

He  was  a  real  torrid  proposition  when  he  did  slick 
up.  I  saw  him  do  it  once,  a  couple  of  nights  before 
I  broke  trainin',  when  they  was  goin'  to  have  a  dance 
up  to  the  ranch.  His  idea  of  makin'  a  swell  toilet  was 
to  take  a  hunk  of  sheep  tallow  and  grease  his  boots 
clear  to  the  tops.  Then  he  ducks  his  head  into  the 
horse  trough  and  polishes  the  back  of  his  neck  with  a 
bar  of  yellow  soap.  Next  he  dries  himself  off  on  a 
meal  sack,  uses  half  a  bottle  of  scented  hair  oil  on 
his  Buffalo  Bill  thatch,  pulls  on  a  striped  gingham 
shirt,  ties  a  red  silk  handkerchief  around  his  throat, 
and  he's  ready  to  receive  comp'ny.  I  didn't  see  Mrs. 
Merrity  after  she  got  herself  fixed  for  the  ball;  but 
Hank  told  me  she  was  goin'  to  wear  a  shirt  waist  that 
she'd  sent  clear  to  Kansas  City  for. 

Oh,  we  got  real  chummy  before  I  left.  He  came 
down  to  see  me  off  the  day  I  started  for  Denver,  and 
while  we  was  waitin'  for  the  train  he  told  me  the 
story  of  his  life:  How  he'd  been  rustlin'  for  himself 
ever  since  he'd  graduated  from  an  orphan  asylum  in 
Illinois ;  the  different  things  he'd  worked  at  before  he 
learned  the  cow  business;  and  how,  when  he'd  first 

135 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

met  Reney  slingin'  crockery  in  a  railroad  restaurant, 
and  married  her  on  sight,  they'd  started  out  with  a 
cash  capital  of  one  five-dollar  bill  and  thirty-eight 
cents  in  change,  to  make  their  fortune.  Then  he  told 
me  how  many  steers  and  yearlings  he  owned,  and  how 
much  grazin'  land  he'd  got  inside  of  wire. 

"  That's  doin'  middlin'  well,  ain't  it  ?  "  says  he. 

Come  to  figure  up,  it  was,  and  I  told  him  I  didn't 
see  why  he  wa'n't  in  a  fair  way  to  find  himself  cuttin' 
into  the  grape  some  day. 

"  It  all  depends  on  the  Jayhawker,"  says  he.  "  I've 
got  a  third  int'rest  in  that.  Course,  I  ain't  hollerin' 
a  lot  about  it  yet,  for  it  ain't  much  more'n  a  hole 
in  the  ground;  but  if  they  ever  strike  the  yellow 
there  maybe  we'll  come  on  and  take  a  look  at  New 
York." 

"  It's  worth  it,"  says  I.  "  Hunt  me  up  when  you 
do." 

"  I  shore  will,"  says  Hank.    "  Good  luck !  " 

And  the  last  I  see  of  him  he  was  standin'  there  in 
his  buckskin  pants,  gawpin'  at  the  steam  cars. 

Now,  I  ain't  been  spendin'  my  time  ever  since  won- 
derin*  what  was  happenin'  to  Hank.  You  know  how 
it  is.  Maybe  I've  had  him  in  mind  two  or  three  times. 
But  when  I  gets  that  'phone  message  I  didn't  have  any 
trouble  about  callin'  up  my  last  view  of  him.  So, 
when  it  come  to  buttin'  into  a  swell  Fifth-ave.  hotel 

136 


A  LINE    ON    PEACOCK   ALLEY 

and  askin'  for  Hank  Merrity,  I  has  a  sudden  spasm 
of  bashfulness.  It  didn't  last  long. 

"  If  Hank  was  good  enough  for  me  to  chum  with 
in  Bedelia,"  says  I,  "  he  ought  to  have  some  standin' 
with  me  here.  There  wa'n't  anything  I  could  have 
asked  that  he  wouldn't  have  done  for  me  out  there, 
and  I  guess  if  he  needs  some  one  to  show  him  where 
Broadway  is,  and  tell  him  to  take  his  pants  out  of  his 
boot  tops,  it's  up  to  me  to  do  it." 

Just  the  same,  when  I  gets  up  to  the  desk,  I  whispers 
it  confidential  to  the  clerk.  If  he'd  come  back  with  a 
hee-haw  I  wouldn't  have  said  a  word.  I  was  ex- 
pectin'  somethin'  of  the  kind.  But  never  a  chuckle. 
He  don't  even  grin. 

"  Hank  Merrity  ?  "  says  he,  shakin'  his  head.  "  We 
have  a  guest  here,  though,  by  the  name  of  Henry 
Merrity — Mr.  Henry  Merrity." 

"  That's  him,"  says  I.  "  All  the  Henrys  are  Hanks 
when  you  get  west  of  Omaha.  Where'll  I  find 
him?" 

I  was  hopin'  he'd  be  up  in  his  room,  practisin'  with 
the  electric  light  buttons,  or  bracin'  himself  for  a  ride 
down  In  the  elevator;  but  there  was  no  answer  to  the 
call  on  the  house  'phone ;  so  I  has  to  wait  while  a  boy 
goes  out  with  my  card  on  a  silver  tray,  squeakin',  "  Mis- 
ter Merrity  !  Mis-ter  Merrity !  "  Five  minutes  later  I 
was  towed  through  the  palms  into  the  Turkish  smokin' 

137 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

room,  and  the  next  thing  I  knew  I  was  lined  up  in 
front  of  a  perfect  gent. 

Say,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  them  buttermilk  eyes, 
you  never  could  have  made  me  believe  it  was  him. 
Honest,  them  eyes  was  all  there  was  left  of  the  Hank 
Merrity  I'd  known  in  Bedelia.  It  wa'n't  just  the 
clothes,  either,  though  he  had  'em  all  on, — op'ra  lid, 
four-button  white  vest,  shiny  shoes,  and  the  rest, — 
it  was  what  had  happened  to  his  face  that  was  stun- 
nin'  me. 

The  lip  drooper  had  been  wiped  out — not  just 
shaved  off,  mind  you,  but  scrubbed  clean.  The  russet 
colour  was  gone,  too.  He  was  as  pink  and  white  and 
smooth  as  a  roastin'  pig  that's  been  scraped  and  sand- 
papered for  a  window  display  in  a  meat  shop.  You've 
noticed  that  electric  light  complexion  some  of  our 
Broadway  rounders  gets  on?  Well,  Hank  had  it. 
Even  the  neck  freckles  had  got  the  magic  touch. 

Course,  he  hadn't  been  turned  into  any  he  Venus, 
at  that ;  but  as  he  stood,  costume  and  all,  he  looked  as 
much  a  part  of  New  York  as  the  Flatiron  Buildin'. 
And  while  I'm  buggin'  my  eyes  out  and  holdin'  my 
mouth  open,  he  grabs  me  by  the  hand  and  slaps  me 
on  the  back. 

"  Why,  hello,  Shorty !  I'm  mighty  glad  to  see  you. 
Put  'er  there !  "  says  he. 

"Gee!"  says  I.  "Then  it's  true!  Now  I  guess 
138 


A  LINE    ON    PEACOCK   ALLEY 

the  thing  for  me  to  do  is  to  own  up  to  Maude  Adams 
that  I  believe  in  fairies.  Hank,  who  did  it?  " 

"  Did  what  ?  "  says  he. 

"  Why,  made  your  face  over  and  put  on  the  Fifth- 
ave.  gloss  ? "  says  I. 

"Do  I  look  it?"  says  he,  grinnin'.  "Would  I 
pass  ?  " 

"  Pass ! "  says  I.  "  Hank,  they  could  use  you  for 
a  sign.  Lookin'  as  you  do  now,  you  could  go  to  any 
one  night  stand  in  the  country  and  be  handed  the 
New  York  papers  without  sayin'  a  word.  What  I 
want  to  know,  though,  is  how  it  happened  ?  " 

"  Happen  ?  "  says  he.  "  Shorty,  such  things  don't 
come  by  accident.  You  buy  'em.  You  go  through 
torture  for  'em." 

"  Say,  Hank,"  says  I,  "  you  don't  mean  to  say  you've 
been  up  against  the  skinologists  ?  " 

Well,  he  had.  They'd  kept  his  face  in  a  steam  box 
by  the  hour,  scrubbed  him  with  pumice  stone,  electro- 
cuted his  lip  fringe,  made  him  wear  a  sleepin'  mask, 
and  done  everything  but  peel  him  alive. 

"  Look  at  that  for  a  paw !  "  says  he.  "  Ain't  it  lady- 
like?" 

It  was.  Every  fingernail  showed  the  half  moon, 
and  the  palm  was  as  soft  as  a  baby's. 

"  You  must  have  been  makin'  a  business  of  it,"  says 
I.  "  How  long  has  this  thing  been  goin'  on  ?  " 

139 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

"  Nearly  four  months,"  says  Hank,  heavin'  a  groan. 
"  Part  of  that  time  I  put  in  five  hours  a  day ;  but  I've 
got  'em  scaled  down  to  two  now.  It's  been  awful, 
Shorty,  but  it  had  to  be  done." 

"How  was  that?"  says  I. 

"  On  Reney's  account,"  says  he.  "  She's  powerful 
peart  at  savvyin'  things,  Reney  is.  Why,  when  we 
struck  town  I  was  wearin'  a  leather  trimmed  hat  and 
eatin'  with  my  knife,  just  as  polite  as  I  knew  how. 
We  hadn't  been  here  a  day  before  she  saw  that  some- 
thing was  wrong.  '  Hank,'  says  she,  *  this  ain't  where 
we  belong.  Let's  go  back.' — '  What  for  ?  '  says  I. — 
'  Shucks ! '  says  she.  '  Can't  you  see  ?  These  folks 
are  different  from  us.  Look  at  'em ! '  Well,  I  did, 
and  it  made  me  mad.  '  Reney,'  says  I, '  I'll  allow  there 
is  something  wrong  with  us,  but  I  reckon  it  ain't 
bone  deep.  There's  such  a  thing  as  burnin'  one  brand 
over  another,  ain't  there?  Suppose  we  give  it  a 
whirl  ? '  That's  what  we  done  too,  and  I'm  beginnin' 
to  suspicion  we've  made  good." 

"  I  guess  you  have,  Hank,"  says  I ;  "  but  ain't  it  ex- 
pensive ?  You  haven't  gone  broke  to  do  it,  have  you  ?  " 

"  Broke !  "  says  he,  smilin'.  "  Guess  you  ain't  heard 
what  they're  takin'  out  of  the  Jayhawker  these  days. 
Why,  I  couldn't  spend  it  all  if  I  had  four  hands.  But 
come  on.  Let's  find  Reney  and  go  to  a  show  some- 
wheres." 

140 


A  LINE   ON    PEACOCK   ALLEY 

Course,  seem'  Hank  had  kind  of  prepared  me  for 
a  change  in  Mrs.  Merrity ;  so  I  braces  myself  for  the 
shock  and  tries  to  forget  the  wrapper  and  carpet  slip- 
pers. But  you  know  the  kind  of  birds  that  roost  along 
Peacock  Alley  ?  There  was  a  double  row  of  'em  hold- 
in''  down  the  arm  chairs  on  either  side  of  the  corridor, 
and  lookin'  like  a  livin'  exhibit  of  spring  millinery. 
I  tried  hard  to  imagine  Reney  in  that  bunch;  but  it 
was  no  go.  The  best  I  could  do  was  throw  up  a  pic- 
ture of  a  squatty  female  in  a  Kansas  City  shirt  waist. 
And  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  we  fetches  up  alongside  a 
fairy  in  radium  silk  and  lace,  with  her  hair  waved 
to  the  minute,  and  carryin'  enough  sparks  to  light  up 
the  subway.  She  was  the  star  of  the  collection,  and 
I  nearly  loses  my  breath  when  Hank  says: 

"  Reney,  you  remember  Shorty  McCabe,  don't 
you?" 

"  Ah,  rully ! "  says  she  liftin'  up  a  pair  of  gold 
handled  eye  glasses  and  takin'  a  peek.  "  Chawmed 
to  meet  you  again,  Mr.  McCabe." 

"  M-m-me  too,"  says  I.  It  was  all  the  conversation 
I  had  ready  to  pass  out. 

Maybe  I  acted  some  foolish;  but  for  the  next  few 
minutes  I  didn't  do  anything  but  stand  there,  sizin' 
her  up  and  inspectin'  the  improvements.  There  hadn't 
been  any  half  way  business  about  her.  If  Hank  was 
a  good  imitation,  Mrs.  Merrity  was  the  real  thing. 

141 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

She  was  it.  I've  often  wondered  where  they  all  came 
from,  them  birds  of  Paradise  that  we  see  floatin' 
around  such  places;  but  now  I've  got  a  line  on  'em. 
They  ain't  all  raised  in  New  York.  It's  pin  spots  on 
the  map  like  Bedelia  that  keeps  up  the  supply. 

Reney  hadn't  stopped  with  takin'  courses  at  the 
beauty  doctors  and  goin'  the  limit  on  fancy  clothes. 
She'd  been  plungin'  on  conversation  lessons,  voice 
culture,  and  all  kind  of  parlour  tricks.  She'd  been 
keepin'  her  eyes  and  ears  open  too,  takin'  her  models 
from  real  life;  and  the  finished  product  was  some- 
thin'  you'd  say  had  never  been  west  of  Broadway  or 
east  of  Fourth-ave.  As  for  her  ever  doin'  such  a 
thing  as  juggle  crockery,  it  was  almost  a  libel  to  think 
of  it. 

"  Like  it  here  in  town,  do  you  ?  "  says  I,  firin'  it  at 
both  of  'em. 

"  Like  it !  "  says  Hank.  "  See  what  it's  costin'  us. 
We  got  to  like  it." 

She  gives  him  a  look  that  must  have  felt  like  an 
icicle  slipped  down  his  neck.  "  Certainly  we  enjoy 
New  York,"  says  she.  "  It's  our  home,  don'cha 
know." 

"  Gosh ! "  says  I.  I  didn't  mean  to  let  it  slip  out, 
but  it  got  past  me  before  I  knew. 

Mrs.  Merrity  only  raises  her  eyebrows  and  smiles, 
as  much  as  to  say,  "  Oh,  what  can  one  expect  ?  " 

142 


A   LINE    ON    PEACOCK   ALLEY 

That  numbs  me  so  much  I  didn't  have  life  enough 
to  back  out  of  goin'  to  the  theatre  with  'em,  as  Hank 
had  planned.  Course,  we  has  a  box,  and  it  wasn't 
until  she'd  got  herself  placed  well  up  in  front  and  was 
lookin'  the  house  over  through  the  glasses  that  I  gets 
a  chance  for  a  few  remarks  with  Hank. 

"  Is  she  like  that  all  the  time  now  ?  "  I  whispers. 

"You  bet !  "  says  he.     "  Don't  she  do  it  good?  " 

Say,  there  wa'n't  any  mistakin'  how  the  act  hit 
Hank.  "  You  ought  to  see  her  with  her  op'ra  rig  on, 
though — tiara,  and  all  that,"  says  he. 

"Go  reg'lar?"  says  I. 

"  Tuesdays  and  Fridays,"  says  he.  "  We  leases  the 
box  for  them  nights." 

That  gets  me  curious  to  know  how  they  puts  in 
their  time,  so  I  has  him  give  me  an  outline.  It  was 
something  like  this:  Coffee  and  rolls  at  ten-thirty 
A.  M.;  hair  dressers,  manicures,  and  massage  artists 
till  twelve-thirty;  drivin'  in  the  brougham  till  two; 
an  hour  off  for  lunch;  more  drivin'  and  shoppin'  till 
five;  nap  till  six;  then  the  maids  and  valets  and  so 
on  to  fix  'em  up  for  dinner ;  theatre  or  op'ra  till  eleven ; 
supper  at  some  swell  cafe ;  and  the  pillows  about  two 
A.  M. 

Then  the  curtain  goes  up  for  the  second  act,  and  I 
see  Hank  had  got  his  eyes  glued  on  the  stage.  As 
we'd  come  late,  I  hadn't  got  the  hang  of  the  piece  be- 

143 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

fore,  but  now  I  notices  it's  one  of  them  gunless  Wild 
West  plays  that's  hit  Broadway  so  hard.  It  was  a 
breezy  kind  of  a  scene  they  showed  up.  To  one  side 
was  an  almost  truly  log  cabin,  with  a  tin  wash  basin 
hung  on  a  nail  just  outside  the  front  door  and  some 
real  firewood  stacked  up  under  the  window.  Off  up 
the  middle  was  mountains  piled  up,  one  on  top  of  the 
other,  clear  up  into  the  flies. 

The  thing  didn't  strike  me  at  first,  until  I  hears 
Hank  dig  up  a  sigh  that  sounds  as  if  it  started  from 
his  shoes.  Then  I  tumbles.  This  stage  settin'  was 
almost  a  dead  ringer  for  his  old  ranch  out  north  of 
Bedelia.  In  a  minute  in  comes  a  bunch  of  stage 
cowboys.  They  was  a  lot  cleaner  lookin'  than  any 
I  ever  saw  around  Merrity's,  and  some  of  'em  was 
wearin'  misfit  whiskers;  but  barrin'  a  few  little  points 
like  that  they  fitted  into  the  picture  well  enough. 
Next  we  hears  a  whoop,  and  in  bounces  the  leadin' 
lady,  rigged  out  in  beaded  leggin's,  knee  length  skirt, 
leather  coat,  and  Shy  Ann  hat,  with  her  red  hair  flyin' 
loose. 

Say,  I'm  a  good  deal  of  a  come-on  when  it  comes 
to  the  ranch  business,  but  I've  seen  enough  to  know 
that  if  any  woman  had  showed  up  at  Merrity's  place 
in  that  costume  the  cow  punchers  would  have  blushed 
into  their  hats  and  took  for  the  timber  line.  I  looks 
at  Hank,  expectin'  to  see  him  wearin'  a  grin ;  but  he 

144 


"WE — E — E — OUGH!      GLORY    BE!"   YELLS    HANK,    LETTIN* 
OUT   AN    EARSPLITTER 


A  LINE   ON    PEACOCK   ALLEY 

wa'n't.  He's  'most  tarin'  his  eyes  out,  lookin'  at  them 
painted  mountains  and  that  four-piece  log  cabin.  And 
would  you  believe  it,  Mrs.  Merrity  was  doin'  the  same ! 
I  couldn't  see  that  either  of  'em  moved  durin'  the 
whole  act,  or  took  their  eyes  off  that  scenery,  and  when 
the  curtain  goes  down  they  just  naturally  reaches  out 
and  grips  each  other  by  the  hand.  For  quite  some 
time  they  didn't  say  a  word.  Then  Reney  breaks  the 
spell. 

"  You  noticed  it,  didn't  you,  Hank?  "  says  she. 

"  Couldn't  help  it,  Reney !  "  says  he  huskily. 

"  I  expect  the  old  place  is  looking  awful  nice,  just 
about  now,"  she  goes  on. 

Hank  was  swallowin'  hard  just  then,  so  all  he  could 
do  was  nod,  and  a  big  drop  of  brine  leaks  out  of  one 
of  them  buttermilk  blue  eyes.  Reney  saw  it. 

"  Hank,"  says  she,  still  grippin'  his  hand  and  talkin' 
throaty — "  let's  quit  and  go  back !  " 

Say,  maybe  you  never  heard  one  of  them  flannel 
shirts  call  the  cows  home  from  the  next  county.  A 
lot  of  folks  who'd  paid  good  money  to  listen  to  a  weak 
imitation  was  treated  to  the  genuine  article. 

"  We-e-e-ough !  Glory  be !  "  yells  Hank,  jumpin* 
up  and  knockin'  over  a  chair. 

It  was  an  ear  splitter,  that  was.  Inside  of  a  minute 
there  was  a  special  cop  and  four  ushers  makin'  a  rush 
for  the  back  of  our  box. 

I4S 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

"  Here,  here  now ! "  says  one.  "  You'll  have  to 
leave." 

"  Leave !  "  says  Hank.  "  Why,  gol  durn  you  white 
faced  tenderfeet,  you  couldn't  hold  us  here  another 
minute  with  rawhide  ropes !  Come  on,  Reney ;  maybe 
there's  a  night  train !  " 

They  didn't  go  quite  so  sudden  as  all  that.  Reney 
got  him  to  wait  until  noon  next  day,  so  she  could 
fire  a  few  maids  and  send  a  bale  or  so  of  Paris  gowns 
to  the  second  hand  shop;  but  they  made  me  sit  up 
till  'most  mornin'  with  'em,  while  they  planned  out  the 
kind  of  a  ranch  de  luxe  they  was  goin'  to  build  when 
they  got  back  to  Bedelia.  As  near  as  I  could  come  to 
it,  there  was  goin'  to  be  four  Chinese  cooks  always 
standin'  ready  to  fry  griddle  cakes  for  any  neighbouis 
that  might  drop  in,  a  dance  hall  with  a  floor  of  polished 
mahogany,  and  not  a  bath  tub  on  the  place.  What 
they  wanted  was  to  get  back  among  their  old  friends, 
put  on  their  old  clothes,  and  enjoy  themselves  in  their 
own  way  for  the  rest  of  their  lives. 


146 


SHORTY    AND    THE    STRAY 

SAY,  I  don't  know  whether  I'll  ever  get  to  be  a 
reg'lar  week-ender  or  not,  but  I've  been  makin'  an- 
other stab  at  it.  What's  the  use  ownin'  property  in 
the  country  house  belt  if  you  don't  use  it  now  and 
then?  So  last  Saturday,  after  I  shuts  up  the.  Studio, 
I  scoots  out  to  my  place  in  Primrose  Park. 

Well,  I  puts  in  the  afternoon  with  Dennis  Whaley, 
who's  head  gardener  and  farm  superintendent,  and 
everything  else  a  three-acre  plot  will  stand  for.  Then, 
about  supper  time,  as  I'm  just  settlin'  myself  on  the 
front  porch  with  my  heels  on  the  stoop  rail,  wonderin' 
how  folks  can  manage  to  live  all  the  time  where  nothin' 
ever  happens,  I  hears  a  chug-chuggin',  and  up  the 
drive  rolls  a  cute  little  one-seater  bubble,  with  nobody 
abroad  but  a  Boston  terrier  and  a  boy. 

"  Chee !  "  thinks  I,  "  they'll  be  givin'  them  gasolene 
carts  to  babies  next.  Wonder  what  fetches  the  kid 
in  here?" 

Maybe  he  was  a  big  ten  or  a  small  twelve;  any- 
way, he  wa'n't  more.  He's  one  of  these  fine  haired, 
light  complected  youngsters,  that  a  few  years  ago 
would  have  had  yellow  Fauntleroy  curls,  and  been 

147 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

rigged  out  in  a  lace  collar  and  a  black  velvet  suit, 
and  had  a  nurse  to  lead  him  around  by  the  hand. 
But  the  new  crop  of  young  Astergould  Thickwads 
is  bein'  trained  on  different  lines.  This  kid  was  a  good 
sample.  His  tow  coloured  hair  is  just  long  enough 
to  tousle  nice,  and  he's  bare  headed  at  that.  Then 
he's  got  on  corduroy  knickers,  a  khaki  jacket,  black 
leather  leggin's,  and  gauntlet  gloves,  and  he  looks  al- 
most as  healthy  as  if  he  was  poor. 

"  Hello,  youngster !  "  says  I.  "  Did  you  lose  the 
shuffer  overboard  ?  " 

"  Beg  pardon,"  says  he ;  "  but  I  drive  my  own 
machine." 

"  Oh !  "  says  I.  "  I  might  have  known  by  the  cos- 
tume." 

By  this  time  he's  standin'  up  with  his  hand  to  his 
ear,  squintin'  out  through  the  trees  to  the  main  road, 
like  he  was  listenin'  for  somethin'.  In  a  second  he 
hears  one  of  them  big  six-cylinder  cars  go  hummin' 
past,  and  it  seems  to  be  what  he  was  waitin'  for. 

"  Coin'  to  stop,  are  you  ?"  says  I. 

"  Thank  you,"  says  he,  "  I  will  stay  a  little  while, 
if  you  don't  mind,"  and  he  proceeds  to  shut  off  the 
gasolene  and  climb  out.  The  dog  follows  him. 

"  Givin'  some  one  the  slip  ?  "  says  I. 

"  Oh,  no,"  says  he  real  prompt.  "  I — I've  been  in 
a  race,  that's  all." 

148 


SHORTY   AND   THE    STRAY 

"  Ye-e-es?  "  says  I.     "  Had  a  start,  didn't  you?  " 

"  A  little,"  says  he. 

With  that  he  sits  down  on  the  steps,  snuggles  the 
terrier  up  alongside  of  him,  and  begins  to  look  me 
and  the  place  over  careful,  without  sayin'  any  more. 
Course,  that  ain't  the  way  boys  usually  act,  unless 
they've  got  stage  fright,  and  this  one  didn't  seem  at 
all  shy.  As  near  as  I  could  guess,  he  was  thinkin' 
hard,  so  I  let  him  take  his  time.  I  figures  out  from 
his  looks,  and  his  showin'  up  in  a  runabout,  that  he's 
come  from  some  of  them  big  country  places  near  by, 
and  that  when  he  gets  ready  he'll  let  out  what  he's 
after.  Sure  enough,  pretty  soon  he  opens  up. 

"  Wouldn't  you  like  to  buy  the  machine,  sir  ?  "  says 
he. 

"  Selling  out,  are  you  ?  "  says  I.  "  Well,  what's  your 
askin'  price  for  a  rig  of  that  kind  ?  " 

He  sizes  me  up  for  a  minute,  and  then  sends  out  a 
feeler.  "  Would  five  dollars  be  too  much  ?  " 

"  No,"  says  I,  "  I  shouldn't  call  that  a  squeeze,  pro- 
vidin'  you  threw  in  the  dog." 

He  looks  real  worried  then,  and  hugs  the  terrier 
up  closer  than  ever.  "  I  couldn't  sell  Togo,"  says 
he.  "  You — you  wouldn't  want  him  too,  would 
you?" 

When  I  sees  that  it  wouldn't  take  much  more  to 
get  them  big  blue  eyes  of  his  to  leakin',  I  puts  him 

149 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

easy  on  the  dog  question.  "  But  what's  your  idea  of 
sellin'  the  bubble?  "  says  I. 

"  Why,"  says  he,  "  I  won't  need  it  any  longer.  I'm 
going  to  be  a  motorman  on  a  trolley  car." 

"  That's  a  real  swell  job,"  says  I.  "  But  how  will 
the  folks  at  home  take  it  ?  " 

"  The  folks  at  home  ?  "  says  he,  lookin'  me  straight 
in  the  eye.  "  Why,  there  aren't  any.  I  haven't  any 
home,  you  know." 

Honest,  the  way  he  passed  out  that  whopper  was 
worth  watchin'.  It  was'  done  as  cool  and  scientific 
as  a  real  estate  man  takin'  oath  there  wa'n't  a  mos- 
quito in  the  whole  county. 

"  Then  you're  just  travelin'  around  loose,  eh  ?  "  says 
I.  "  Where'd  you  strike  from  to-day  ?  " 

"  Chicago,"  says  he. 

"  Do  tell !  "  says  I.  "  That's  quite  a  day's  run.  You 
must  have  left  before  breakfast." 

"  I  had  breakfast  early,"  says  he. 

"  Dinner  in  Buffalo?  "  says  I. 

"  I  didn't  stop  for  dinner,"  says  he. 

"  In  that  case — er — what's  the  name  ?  "  says  I. 

"  Mister  Smith,"  says  he. 

"  Easy  name  to  remember,"  says  I. 

"Ye-e-es.  I'd  rather  you  called  me  Gerald, 
though,"  says  he. 

"  Good,"  says  I.  "  Well,  Gerald,  seein'  as  you've 
150 


SHORTY   AND   THE    STRAY 

made  a  long  jump  since  breakfast,  what  do  you  say 
to  grubbin'  up  a  little  with  me,  eh  ? " 

That  strikes  him  favourable,  and  as  Mother  Whaley 
is  just  bringin'  in  the  platter,  we  goes  inside  and  sits 
down,  Togo  and  all.  He  sure  didn't  fall  to  like  a 
half  starved  kid ;  but  maybe  that  was  because  he  was 
so  busy  lookin'  at  Mrs.  Whaley.  She  ain't  much  on 
the  French  maid  type,  that's  a  fact.  Her  uniform  is 
a  checked  apron  over  a  faded  red  wrapper,  and  she 
has  a  way  of  puggin'  her  hair  up  in  a  little  knob  that 
makes  her  face  look  like  one  of  the  kind  they  cut  out 
of  a  cocoanut. 

Gerald  eyes  her  for  a  while ;  then  he  leans  over  to  me 
and  whispers,  "  Is  this  the  butler's  night  off?  " 

"  Yes,"  says  I.  "  He  has  seven  a  week.  This  is 
one  of  'em." 

After  he's  thought  that  over  he  grins.  "  I  see," 
says  he.  "  You  means  you  haven't  a  butler  ?  Why,  I 
thought  everyone  did." 

"  There's  a  few  of  us  struggles  along  without,"  says 
I.  "  We  don't  brag  about  it,  though.  But  where  do 
you  keep  your  butler  now,  Mr.  Gerald  ?  " 

That  catches  him  with  his  guard  down,  and  he  be- 
gins to  look  mighty  puzzled. 

"  Oh,  come,"  says  I,  "  you  might's  well  own  up. 
You've  brought  the  runaway  act  right  down  to  the 
minute,  son;  but  barrin'  the  details,  it's  the  same  old 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

game.  I  done  the  same  when  I  was  your  age,  only  in- 
stead of  runnin'  off  in  a  thousand-dollar  bubble,  I 
sneaked  into  an  empty  freight  car." 

"  Did  you  ?  "  says  he,  his  eyes  openin'  wide.  "  Was 
it  nice,  riding  in  the  freight  car  ?  " 

"  Never  had  so  much  fun  out  of  a  car  ride  since," 
says  I.  "  But  I  was  on  the  war  path  then.  My  out- 
fit was  a  blank  cartridge  pistol,  a  scalpin'  knife  hooked 
from  the  kitchen,  and  a  couple  of  nickel  lib'ries  that 
told  all  about  Injun  killin'.  Don't  lay  out  to  slaughter 
any  redskins,  do  you  ?  " 

He  looks  kind  of  weary,  and  shakes  his  head. 

"  Well,  runnin'  a  trolley  car  has  its  good  points,  I 
s'pose,"  says  I ;  "  but  I  wouldn't  tackle  it  for  a  year 
or  so  if  I  was  you.  You'd  better  give  me  your  'phone 
number,  and  I'll  ring  up  the  folks,  so  they  won't  be 
worryin'  about  you." 

But  say,  this  Gerald  boy,  alias  Mr.  Smith,  don't  fall 
for  any  smooth  talk  like  that.  He  just  sets  his  jaws 
hard  and  remarks,  quiet  like,  "  I  guess  I'd  better  be 
going." 

"Whereto?"  says  I. 

"  New  Haven  ought  to  be  a  good  place  to  sell  the 
machine,"  says  he.  "  I  can  get  a  job  there  too." 

At  that  I  goes  to  pumpin'  him  some  more,  and  he 
starts  in  to  hand  out  the  weirdest  line  of  yarns  I  ever 
listened  to.  Maybe  he  wa'n't  a  very  skilful  liar,  but 

152 


SHORTY   AND   THE    STRAY 

he  was  a  willin'  one.  Quick  as  I'd  tangle  him  up  on 
one  story,  he'd  lie  himself  out  and  into  another.  He 
accounts  for  his  not  havin'  any  home  in  half  a  dozen 
different  ways,  sometimes  killin'  off  his  relations  one 
by  one,  and  then  bunchin'  'em  in  a  railroad  wreck  or 
an  earthquake.  But  he  sticks  to  Chicago  as  the  place 
where  he  lived  last,  although  the  nearest  he  can  get  to 
the  street  number  is  by  sayin'  it  was  somewhere  near 
Central  Park. 

"  That  happens  to  be  in  New  York,"  says  I. 

"  There  are  two  in  Chicago,"  says  he. 

"  All  right,  Gerald,"  says  I.  "  I  give  up.  We'll  let 
it  go  that  you're  playin'  a  lone  hand ;  but  before  you 
start  out  again  you'd  better  get  a  good  night's  rest 
here.  What  do  you  say  ?  " 

He  didn't  need  much  urgin' ;  so  we  runs  the  bubble 
around  into  the  stable,  and  I  tucks  him  and  Togo  away 
together  in  the  spare  bed. 

"  Who's  the  little  lad?"  says  Dennis  to  me. 

"  For  one  thing,"  says  I,  "  he's  an  honourary  mem- 
ber of  the  Ananias  Club.  If  I  can  dig  up  any  more 
information  between  now  and  mornin',  Dennis,  I'll 
let  you  know." 

First  I  calls  up  two  or  three  village  police  stations 
along  the  line ;  but  they  hadn't  had  word  of  any  stray 
kid. 

"That's  funny,"  thinks  I.  "If  he'd  lived  down 
153 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

in  Hester-st,  there'd  be  four  thousand  cops  huntin' 
him  up  by  this  time." 

But  it  wa'n't  my  cue  to  do  the  frettin';  so  I  lets 
things  rest  as  they  are,  only  takin'  a  look  at  the  kid 
before  I  turns  in,  to  see  that  he  was  safe.  And  say, 
that  one  look  gets  me  all  broke  up;  for  when  I  tip- 
toes in  with  the  candle  I  finds  that  pink  and  white 
face  of  his  all  streaked  up  with  cryin',  and  he  has  one 
arm  around  Togo,  like  he  thought  that  terrier  was  all 
the  friend  he  had  left. 

Gee!  but  that  makes  me  feel  mean!  Why,  if  I'd 
known  he  was  goin'  to  blubber  himself  to  sleep  that 
way,  I'd  hung  around  and  cheered  him  up.  He'd 
been  so  brash  about  this  runaway  business,  though, 
that  I  never  suspicioned  he'd  go  to  pieces  the  minute 
he  was  left  alone.  And  they  look  different  when 
they're  asleep,  don't  they?  I  guess  I  must  have  put 
in  the  next  two  hours'  wonderin'  how  it  was  that  a 
nice,  bright  youngster  like  that  should  come  to  quit 
home.  If  he'd  come  from  some  tenement  house,  where 
it  was  a  case  of  pop  bein'  on  the  island,  and  maw 
rushin'  the  can  and  usin'  the  poker  on  him,  you 
wouldn't  think  anything  of  it.  But  here  he  has  his 
bubble,  and  his  high  priced  terrier,  and  things  like 
that,  and  yet  he  does  the  skip.  Well,  there  wa'n't  any 
answer. 

Not  hearin'  him  stirrin'  when  I  gets  up  in  the  morn- 
154 


SHORTY   AND   THE   STRAY 

in',  I  makes  up  my  mind  to  let  him  snooze  as  long  as 
he  likes.  So  I  has  breakfast  and  goes  out  front  with 
the  mornin'  papers.  It  got  to  be  after  nine  o'clock, 
and  I  was  just  thinkin'  of  goin'  up  to  see  how  he  was 
gettin'  on,  when  I  sees  a  big  green  tourin'  car  come 
dashin'  down  into  the  park  and  turn  into  my  front 
drive.  There  was  a  crowd  in  it;  but,  before  I  can  get 
up,  out  flips  a  stunnin'  lookin'  bunch  of  dry  goods,  all 
veils  and  silk  dust  coat,  and  wants  to  know  if  I'm 
Shorty  McCabe:  which  I  says  I  am. 

"  Then  you  have  my  boy  here,  have  you  ?  "  she  shoots 
out.  And,  say,  by  the  suspicious  way  she  looks  at 
me,  you'd  thought  I'd  been  breakin'  into  some  nursery. 
I'll  admit  she  was  a  beaut,  all  right ;  but  the  hard  look 
I  gets  from  them  big  black  eyes  didn't  win  me  for  a 
cent. 

"  Maybe  if  I  knew  who  you  was,  ma'am,"  says  I, 
"  we'd  get  along  faster." 

That  don't  soothe  her  a  bit.  She  gives  me  one 
glare,  and  then  whirls  around  and  shouts  to  a  couple 
of  tough  lookin'  bruisers  that  was  in  the  car. 

"  Quick !  "  she  sings  out.  "  Watch  the  rear  and  side 
doors.  I'm  sure  he's  here." 

And  the  mugs  pile  out  and  proceed  to  plant  them- 
selves around  the  house. 

"  Sa-a-ay,"  says  I,  "  this  begins  to  look  excitin'.  Is 
it  a  raid,  or  what  ?  Who  are  the  husky  boys  ?  " 

155 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

"  Those  men  are  in  my  employ."  says  she. 

"  Private  sleut's  ?  "  says  I. 

"  They  are,"  says  she,  "  and  if  you'll  give  up  the 
boy  without  any  trouble  I  will  pay  you  just  twice 
as  much  as  you're  getting  to  hide  him.  I'm  going  to 
have  him,  anyway." 

"  Well,  well !  "  says  I. 

And  say,  maybe  you  can  guess  by  that  time  I  was 
feelin'  like  it  was  a  warm  day.  If  I'd  had  on  a  celluloid 
collar,  it'd  blown  up.  Inside  of  ten  seconds,  I've 
shucked  my  coat  and  am  mixin'  it  with  the  plug  that's 
guardin'  the  side  door.  The  doin's  was  short  and 
sweet.  He's  no  sooner  slumped  down  to  feel  what's 
happened  to  his  jaw  than  No.  2  come  up.  He  acts 
like  he  was  ambitious  to  do  damage,  but  the  third 
punch  leaves  him  on  the  grass.  Then  I  takes  each  of 
'em  by  the  ear,  leads  'em  out  to  the  road,  and  gives 
'em  a  little  leather  farewell  to  help  'em  get  under 
way. 

"  Sorry  to  muss  your  hired  help,  ma'am,"  says  I, 
comin'  back  to  the  front  stoop ;  "  but  this  is  one  place 
in  the  country  where  private  detectives  ain't  wanted. 
And  another  thing,  let's  not  have  any  more  talk  about 
me  bein'  paid.  If  there's  anyone  here  belongin'  to  you, 
you  can  have  him  and  welcome;  but  cut  out  the  hold 
up  business  and  the  graft  conversation.  Now  again, 
what's  the  name  ?  " 


SHORTY   AND   THE    STRAY 

She  was  so  mad  she  was  white  around  the  lips ;  but 
she's  one  of  the  kind  that  knows  when  she's  up  against 
it,  too.  "  I  am  Mrs.  Rutgers  Greene,"  says  she. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  says  I.     "  From  down  on  the  point?  " 

"  Mr.  Greene  lives  at  Orienta  Point,  I  believe,"  says 
she. 

Now  that  was  plain  enough,  wa'n't  it?  You 
wouldn't  think  I'd  need  postin'  on  what  they  was 
sayin'  at  the  clubs,  after  that.  But  these  high  life 
break-aways  are  so  common  you  can't  keep  track  of 
all  of  'em,  and  she  sprung  it  so  offhand  that  I  didn't 
more'n  half  tumble  to  what  she  meant. 

"  I  suppose  I  may  have  Gerald  now  ? "  she  goes 
on. 

"  Sure,"  says  I.  "  I'll  bring  him  down."  And  as 
I  skips  up  the  stairs  I  sings  out,  "  Hey,  Mr.  Smith ! 
Your  maw's  come  for  you ! " 

There  was  nothin'  doin',  though.  I  knocks  on  the 
door,  and  calls  again.  Next  I  goes  in.  And  say,  it 
wa'n't  until  I'd  pawed  over  all  the  clothes,  and  looked 
under  the  bed  and  into  the  closet,  that  I  could  believe 
it.  He  must  have  got  up  at  daylight,  slipped  down  the 
back  way  in  his  stockin'  feet,  and  skipped.  The  note 
on  the  wash  stand  clinches  it.  It  was  wrote  kind  of 
wobbly,  and  the  spellin'  was  some  streaked ;  but  there 
wa'n't  any  mistakin'  what  he  meant.  He  was  sorry 
he  had  to  tell  so  many  whoppers,  but  he  wa'n't  ever 

157 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

goin'  home  any  more,  and  he  was  much  obliged  for 
my  tip  about  the  freight  car,  Maybe  my  jaw  didn't 
drop. 

"  Thick  head ! "  says  I,  catchin'  sight  of  myself  in 
the  bureau  glass.  "  You  would  get  humorous !  " 

When  I  goes  back  down  stairs  I  find  Mrs.  Greene 
pacin'  the  porch.  "  Well  ?  "  says  she. 

I  throws  up  my  hands.     "  Skipped,"  says  I. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  he  has  gone  ?  "  she  snaps. 

"  That's  the  size  of  it/'  says  I. 

"  Then  this  is  Rutgers's  work.  Oh,  the  beast !  "  and 
she  begins  stampin'  her  foot  and  bitin'  her  lips. 

"  That's  where  you're  off,"  says  I ;  "  this  is  a  case 
of " 

But  just  then  another  big  bubble  comes  dashin'  up, 
with  four  men  in  it,  and  the  one  that  jumps  out  and 
joins  us  is  the  main  stem  of  the  fam'ly.  I  could  see 
that  by  the  way  the  lady  turns  her  back  on  him.  He's 
a  clean  cut,  square  jawed  young  feller,  and  by  the 
narrow  set  of  his  eyes  and  the  sandy  colour  of  his  hair 
you  could  guess  he  might  be  some  obstinate  when  it 
came  to  an  argument.  But  he  begins  calm  enough. 

"  I'm  Rutgers  Greene,"  says  he,  "  and  at  the  police 
station  they  told  me  Gerald  was  here.  I'll  take  charge 
of  him,  if  you  please." 

"  Have  you  brought  a  bunch  of  sleut's  too  ?  v  says  I. 

He  admits  that  he  has. 

158 


SHORTY   AND   THE    STRAY 

"  Then  chase  'em  off  the  grounds  before  I  has  an- 
other mental  typhoon,"  says  I.  "  Shoo  'em !  " 

"  If  they're  not  needed,"  says  he,  "  and  you  object 

"  I  do,"  says  I. 

So  he  has  his  machine  run  out  to  the  road  again. 

"  Now,"  says  I,  "  seein'  as  this  is  a  family  affair " 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  puts  in  Greene ;  "  but  you  hardly 
understand  the  situation.  Mrs.  Greene  need  not  be 
consulted  at  all." 

"  I've  as  much  right  to  Gerald  as  you  have ! "  says 
she,  her  eyes  snappin'  like  a  trolley  wheel  on  a  wet 
night. 

"  We  will  allow  the  courts  to  decide  that  point,"  says 
he,  real  frosty. 

"  I  don't  want  to  butt  in  on  any  tender  little  do- 
mestic scene,"  says  I;  "but  if  I  was  you  two  I'd  find 
the  kid  first.  He's  been  gone  since  daylight." 

"Gone!"  says  Greene.     "Where?" 

"There's  no  tellin'  that,"  says  I.  "All  I  know 
is  that  when  he  left  here  he  was  headed  for  the 
railroad  track,  meanin'  to  jump  a  freight  train 
and " 

"  The  railroad !  "  squeals  Mrs.  Greene.  "  Oh,  he'll 
be  killed !  Oh,  Gerald !  Gerald !  " 

Greene  don't  say  a  word,  but  he  turns  the  colour 
of  a  slice  of  Swiss  cheese. 

159 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

"Oh,  what  can  we  do?"  says  the  lady,  wringin' 
her  hands. 

"Any  of  them  detectives  of  yours  know  the  kid 
by  sight  ?  "  says  I. 

They  didn't.  Neither  did  Greene's  bunch.  They  was 
both  fresh  lots. 

"  Well,"  says  I,  "  I'll  own  up  that  part  of  this  is 
up  to  me,  and  I  won't  feel  right  until  I've  made  a 
try  to  find  him.  I'm  goin'  to  start  now,  and  I  don't 
know  how  long  I'll  be  gone.  From  what  I've  seen 
I  can  guess  that  this  cottage  will  be  a  little  small  for 
you  two ;  but  if  you're  anxious  to  hear  the  first  returns, 
I'd  advise  you  to  stay  right  here.  So  long !  " 

And  with  that  I  grabs  my  hat  and  makes  a  dash 
out  the  back  way,  leavin'  'em  standin'  there  back  to 
back.  I  never  tracked  a  runaway  kid  along  a  railroad, 
and  I  hadn't  much  notion  of  how  to  start ;  but  I  makes 
for  the  rock  ballast  just  as  though  I  had  the  plan  all 
mapped  out. 

The  first  place  I  came  across  was  a  switch  tower, 
and  I  hadn't  chinned  the  operators  three  minutes  be- 
fore I  gets  on  to  the  fact  that  an  east  bound  freight 
usually  passed  there  about  six  in  the  mornin',  and 
generally  stopped  to  drill  on  the  siding  just  below. 
That  was  enough  to  send  me  down  the  track ;  but  there 
wa'n't  any  traces  of  the  kid. 

"  New  Haven  for  me,  then,"  says  I,  and  by  good 
160 


SHORTY   AND   THE    STRAY 

luck  I  catches  a  local.  Maybe  that  was  a  comfortable 
ride,  watchin'  out  of  the  rear  window  for  somethin' 
I  was  hopin'  I  wouldn't  see !  And  when  it  was  over  I 
hunts  up  the  yard  master  and  finds  the  freight  I  was 
lookin'  for  was  just  about  due. 

"  Expectin'  a  consignment?  "  says  he. 

"  Yes,"  says  I.  "  I'm  a  committee  of  one  to  re- 
ceive a  stray  kid." 

"Oh,  that's  it,  eh?"  says  he.  "We  get  'em  'most 
every  week.  I'll  see  that  you  have  a  pass  to  over- 
haul the  empties." 

After  I'd  peeked  into  about  a  dozen  box  cars,  and 
dug  up  nothin'  more  encouraging  than  a  couple  of 
boozy  'boes,  I  begun  to  think  my  calculations  was  all 
wrong.  I  was  just  slidin'  another  door  shut  when  I 
notices  a  bundle  of  somethin'  over  in  the  far  corner. 
I  had  half  a  mind  not  to  climb  in;  for  it  didn't  look 
like  anything  alive,  but  I  takes  a  chance  at  it  for 
luck,  and  the  first  thing  I  hears  is  a  growl.  The  next 
minute  I  has  Togo  by  the  collar  and  the  kid  up  on  my 
arm.  It  was  Gerald,  all  right,  though  he  was  that 
dirty  and  rumpled  I  hardly  knew  him. 

He  just  groans  and  grabs  hold  of  me  like  he  was 
afraid  I  was  goin'  to  get  away.  Why,  the  poor  little 
cuss  was  so  beat  out  and  scared  I  couldn't  get  a  word 
from  him  for  half  an  hour.  But  after  awhile  I  coaxed 
him  to  sit  up  on  a  stool  and  have  a  bite  to  eat,  and 

161 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

when  I've  washed  off  some  of  the  grime,  and  pulled 
out  a  few  splinters  from  his  hands,  we  gets  a  train 
back.  First  off  I  thought  I'd  'phone  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Greene,  but  then  I  changes  my  mind.  "  Maybe  it'll 
do  'em  good  to  wait,"  thinks  I. 

We  was  half  way  back  when  Gerald  looks  up  and 
says,  "  You  won't  take  me  home,  will  you  ?  " 

"  What's  the  matter  with  home,  kid  ?  "  says  I. 

"  Well,"  says  he,  and  I  could  see  by  the  struggle 
he  was  havin'  with  his  upper  lip  that  it  was  comin' 
out  hard,  "  mother  says  father  isn't  a  nice  man,  and 
father  says  I  mustn't  believe  what  she  says  at  all, 
and — and — I  don't  think  I  like  either  of  them  well 
enough  to  be  their  little  boy  any  more.  I  don't  like 
being  stolen  so  often,  either." 

"Stolen!"  says  I. 

"  Yes,"  says  he.  "  You  see,  when  I'm  with  father, 
mother  is  always  sending  men  to  grab  me  up  and 
take  me  off  where  she  is.  Then  father  sends  men  to 
get  me  back,  and — and  I  don't  believe  I've  got  any 
real  home  any  more.  That's  why  I  ran  away. 
Wouldn't  you?" 

"  Kid,"  says  I,  "  I  ain't  got  a  word  to  say." 

He  was  too  tired  and  down  in  the  mouth  to  do 
much  conversing  either.  All  he  wants  is  to  curl  up 
with  his  head  against  my  shoulder  and  go  to  sleep. 
After  he  wakes  up  from  his  nap  he  feels  better,  and 

162 


SHORTY   AND   THE    STRAY 

when  he  finds  we're  goin'  back  to  my  place  he  gets 
quite  chipper.  All  the  way  walkin'  up  from  the 
station  I  tries  to  think  of  how  it  would  be  best  to  break 
the  news  to  him  about  the  grand  household  scrap  that 
was  due  to  be  pulled  off  the  minute  we  shows  up.  I 
couldn't  do  it,  though,  until  we'd  got  clear  to  the 
house. 

"  Now,  youngster,"  says  I,  "  there's  a  little  surprise 
on  tap  for  you  here,  I  guess.  You  walk  up  soft  and 
peek  through  the  door." 

For  a  minute  I  thought  maybe  they'd  cleared  out, 
he  was  so  still  about  it,  so  I  steps  up  to  rubber,  too. 
And  there's  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rutgers  Greene,  sittin'  on 
the  sofa  about  as  close  as  they  could  get,  her  weepin' 
damp  streaks  down  his  shirt  front,  and  him  pattin'  her 
back  hair  gentle  and  lovin'. 

"Turn  off  the  sprayer!"  says  I.  "Here's  the 
kid!" 

Well,  we  was  all  mixed  up  for  the  next  few  minutes. 
They  hugs  Gerald  both  to  once,  and  then  they  hugs 
each  other,  and  if  I  hadn't  ducked  just  as  I  did  I  ain't 
sure  what  would  have  happened  to  me.  When  t 
comes  back,  half  an  hour  later,  all  I  needs  is  one  glance 
to  see  that  a  lot  of  private  sleut's  and  court  lawyers  is 
put  of  a  job. 

"  Shorty,"  says  Greene,  givin'  me  the  hearty  grip, 

"  I  don't  know  how  I'm  ever  goin'  to " 

163 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

"  Ah,  lose  it ! "  says  I.  "  It  was  just  by  a  fluke  I 
got  on  the  job,  anyway.  That's  a  great  kid  of  yours, 
eh?" 

Did  I  say  anything  about  Primrose  Park  bein*  a 
place  where  nothin'  ever  happened?  Well,  you  can 
scratch  that. 


164 


XI 
WHEN   ROSSITER   CUT   LOOSE 

As  a  general  thing  I  don't  go  much  on  looks,  but  I 
will  say  that  I've  seen  handsomer  specimens  than 
Rossiter.  He's  got  good  height,  and  plenty  of  reach, 
with  legs  branchin'  out  just  under  his  armpits — you 
know  how  them  clothespin  fellers  are  built — but  when 
you  finish  out  the  combination  with  pop  eyes  and  a 
couple  of  overhangin'  front  teeth —  Well,  what's  the 
use  ?  Rossy  don't  travel  on  his  shape.  He  don't  have 
to,  with  popper  bossin'  a  couple  of  trunk  lines. 

When  he  first  begun  comin'  to  the  Studio  I  sized 
him  up  for  a  soft  boiled,  and  wondered  how  he  could 
stray  around  town  alone  without  havin'  his  shell 
cracked.  Took  me  some  time,  too,  before  I  fell  to  the 
fact  that  Rossy  was  wiser'n  he  looked ;  but  at  that  he 
wa'n't  no  knowledge  trust. 

Just  bein'  good  natured  was  Rossy's  long  suit. 
Course,  he  couldn't  help  grinnin';  his  mouth  is  cut 
that  way.  There  wa'n't  any  mistakin'  the  look  in  them 
wide  set  eyes  of  his,  though.  That  was  the  real  article, 
the  genuine  I'11-stand-for-any thing  kind.  Say,  you 
could  spring  any  sort  of  a  josh  on  Rossy,  and  he 
wouldn't  squeal.  He  was  one  of  your  shy  violets,  too. 

165 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

Mostly  he  played  a  thinkin'  part,  and  when  he  did  talk, 
he  didn't  say  much.  After  you  got  to  know  'him  real 
well,  though,  and  was  used  to  the  way  he  looked,  you 
couldn't  help  likin'  Rossiter.  I'd  had  both  him  and  the 
old  man  as  reg'lars  for  two  or  three  months,  and  it's 
natural  I  was  more  or  less  chummy  with  them. 

So  when  Rossy  shows  up  here  the  other  mornin'  and 
shoves  out  his  proposition  to  me,  I  don't  think  nothin' 
of  it. 

"  Shorty,"  says  he,  kind  of  flushin'  up,  "  I've  got  a 
favour  to  ask  of  you." 

"  You're  welcome  to  use  all  I've  got  in  the  bank," 
says  I. 

"  It  isn't  money,"  says  he,  growin'  pinker. 

"  Oh !  "  says  I,  like  I  was  a  lot  surprised.  "  Your 
usin'  the  touch  preamble  made  me  think  it  was. 
What's  the  go?" 

"  I — I  can't  tell  you  just  now,"  says  he ;  "  but  I'd 
like  your  assistance  in  a  little  affair,  about  eight  o'clock 
this  evening.  Where  can  I  find  you  ?  " 

"  Sounds  mysterious,"  says  I.  "  You  ain't  goin'  up 
against  any  Canfield  game ;  are  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  assure "  he  begins. 

"  That's  enough,"  says  I,  and  I  names  the  particular 
spot  I'll  be  decoratin'  at  that  hour. 

"  You  won't  fail  ?  "  says  he,  anxious. 

"  Not  unless  an  ambulance  gets  me,"  says  I. 
166 


WHEN    ROSSITER    CUT   LOOSE 

Well,  I  didn't  go  around  battin'  my  head  all  the  rest 
of  the  day,  tryin'  to  think  out  what  it  was  Rossiter 
had  on  the  card.  Somehow  he  ain't  the  kind  you'd 
look  for  any  hot  stunts  from.  If  I'd  made  a  guess, 
maybe  I'd  said  he  wanted  me  to  take  him  and  a  college 
chum  down  to  a  chop  suey  joint  for  an  orgy  on  li-chee 
nuts  an'  weak  tea. 

So  I  wa'n't  fidgetin'  any  that  evenin',  as  I  holds  up 
the  corner  of  42nd-st,  passin'  the  time  of  day  with  the 
Rounds,  and  watchin'  the  Harlem  folks  streak  by  to 
the  roof  gardens.  Right  on  the  tick  a  hansom  fetches 
up  at  the  curb,  and  I  sees  Rossiter  givin'  me  the  wig- 
wag to  jump  in. 

"  You're  runnin'  on  sked,"  says  I.  "  Where  to 
now?" 

"  I  think  your  Studio  would  be  the  best  place,"  says 
he,  "  if  you  don't  mind." 

I  said  I  didn't,  and  away  we  goes  around  the  corner. 
As  we  does  the  turn  I  sees  another  cab  make  a  wild 
dash  to  get  in  front,  and,  takin'  a  peek  through  the 
back  window,  I  spots  a  second  one  followin'. 

"  Are  we  part  of  a  procession  ?  "  says  I,  pointin'  'em 
out  to  him. 

He  only  grins  and  looks  kind  of  sheepish.  "  That's 
the  regular  thing  nowadays,"  says  he. 

"  What !     Tin  badgers  ?  "  says  I. 

He  nods.  "  They  made  me  rather  nervous  at  first/' 
167 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

he  says ;  "  but  after  I'd  been  shadowed  for  a  week  or 
so  I  got  used  to  it,  and  lately  I've  got  so  I  would  feel 
lost  without  them.  To-night,  though,  they're  rather  a 
nuisance.  I  thought  you  might  help  me  to  throw 
them  off  the  track." 

"  But  who  set  'em  on  ?  "  says  I. 

"  Oh,  it's  father,  I  suppose,"  says  he ;  not  grouchy 
mind  you,  but  kind  of  tired. 

"  Why,  Rossy ! "  says  I.  "  I  didn't  think  you  was 
the  sort  that  called  for  P.  D.  reports." 

"  I'm  not,"  says  he.  "  That's  just  father's  way,  you 
know,  when  he  suspects  anything  is  going  on  that  he 
hasn't  been  told  about.  He  runs  his  business  that  way 
— has  a  big  force  looking  into  things  all  the  time.  And 
maybe  some  of  them  weren't  busy ;  so  he  told  them  to 
look  after  me." 

Well  say!  I've  heard  some  tough  things  about  the 
old  man,  but  I  never  thought  he'd  carry  a  thing  that 
far.  Why,  there  ain't  any  more  sportin'  blood  in  Ros- 
siter  than  you'd  look  for  in  a  ribbon  clerk.  Outside 
of  the  little  ladylike  boxin'  that  he  does  with  me,  as 
a  liver  regulator,  the  most  excitin'  fad  of  his  I  ever 
heard  of  was  collectin'  picture  postals. 

Now,  I  generally  fights  shy  of  mixin'  up  in  famly 
affairs,  but  someway  or  other  I  just  ached  to  take  a 
hand  in  this.  "  Rossy,"  says  I,  "  you're  dead  anxious 
to  hand  the  lemon  to  them  two  sleut's ;  are  you  ?  " 

168 


WHEN    ROSSITER    CUT    LOOSE 

He  said  he  was. 

"  And  your  game's  all  on  the  straight  after  that,  is 
it?"  I  says. 

"  Ton  my  honour,  it  is,"  says  he. 

"  Then  count  me  in,"  says  I.  "  I  ain't  never  had 
any  love  for  them  sneak  detectives,  and  here's  where 
I  gives  'em  a  whirl." 

But  say,  they're  a  slippery  bunch.  They  must  have 
known  just  where  we  was  headin',  for  by  the  time  we 
lands  on  the  sidewalk  in  front  of  the  physical  culture 
parlours,  the  man  in  the  leadin'  cab  has  jumped  out 
and  faded. 

"  He  will  be  watching  on  the  floor  above,"  says  Ros- 
siter,  "  and  the  other  one  will  stay  below." 

"  That's  the  way  they  work  it,  eh  ?  "  says  I.  "  Good ! 
Come  on  in  without  lookin'  around  or  lettin'  'em  know 
you're  on." 

We  goes  up  to  the  second  floor  and  turns  on  the 
glim  in  the  front  office.  Then  I  puts  on  a  pair  of  gym. 
shoes,  opens  the  door  easy,  and  tiptoes  down  the  stairs. 
He  was  just  where  I  thought  he'd  be,  coverin'  up  in 
the  shade  of  the  vestibule. 

"  Caught  with  the  goods  on ! "  says  I,  reachin'  out 
and  gettin'  a  good  grip  on  his  neck.  "  No  you  don't ! 
No  gun  play  in  this !  "  and  I  gives  his  wrist  a  crack 
with  my  knuckles  that  puts  his  shootin'  arm  out  of 
business. 

169 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

"  You're  makin'  a  mistake,"  says  he.  "  I'm  a  pri- 
vate detective." 

"You're  a  third  rate  yegg,"  says  I,  "and  you've 
been  nipped  tryin'  to  pinch  a  rubber  door  mat." 

"  Here's  my  badge,"  says  he. 

"  Anybody  can  buy  things  like  that  at  a  hock  shop," 
says  I.  "  You  come  along  up  stairs  till  I  see  whether 
or  no  it's  worth  while  ringin'  up  a  cop." 

He  didn't  want  to  visit,  not  a  little  bit,  but  I  was 
behind,  persuadin'  him  with  my  knee,  and  up  he  goes. 

"  Look  at  what  the  sneak  thief  business  is  comin' 
to,"  says  I,  standin'  him  under  the  bunch  light  where 
Rossiter  could  get  a  good  look  at  him.  He  was  a 
shifty  eyed  low  brow  that  you  wouldn't  trust  alone  in 
a  room  with  a  hot  quarter. 

"  My  name  is  McGilty,"  says  he. 

"  Even  if  it  wa'n't,  you  could  never  prove  an  alibi 
with  that  face,"  says  I. 

"  If  this  young  gent'll  'phone  to  his  father,"  he  goes 
on,  "he'll  find  that  I'm  all  right." 

"  Don't  you  want  us  to  call  up  Teddy  at  Oyster  Bay  ? 
Or  send  for  your  old  friend  Bishop  Potter?  Ah,  say, 
don't  I  look  like  I  could  buy  fly  paper  without  gettin' 
stuck  ?  Sit  down  there  and  rest  your  face  and  hands." 

With  that  I  chucks  him  into  a  chair,  grabs  up  a 
hunk  of  window  cord  that  I  has  for  the  chest  weights, 
and  proceeds  to  do  the  bundle  wrapping  act  on  him. 

170 


WHEN    ROSSITER    CUT   LOOSE 

Course,  he  does  a  lot  of  talkin',  tellin'  of  the  things 
that'll  happen  to  me  if  I  don't  let  him  go  right  off." 

"  I'll  cheerfully  pay  all  the  expenses  of  a  damage 
suit,  or  fines,  Shorty,"  says  Rossiter. 

"  Forget  it !  "  says  I.  "  There  won't  be  anything 
of  the  sort.  He's  lettin'  off  a  little  hot  air,  that's  all. 
Keep  your  eye  on  him  while  I  goes  after  the  other 
one." 

I  collared  Number  Two  squattin'  on  the  skylight 
stairs.  For  a  minute  or  so  he  put  up  a  nice  little  muss, 
but  after  I'd  handed  him  a  swift  one  on  the  jaw  he 
forgot  all  about  fightin'  back. 

"  Attempted  larceny  of  a  tarred  roof  for  yours," 
says  I.  "  Come  down  till  I  give  you  the  third  degree." 

He  didn't  have  a  word  to  say ;  just  held  onto  his  face 
and  looked  ugly.  I  tied  him  up  same's  I  had  the  other 
and  set  'em  face  to  face,  where  they  could  see  how 
pretty  they  looked.  Then  I  led  Rossiter  down  stairs. 

"  Now  run  along  and  enjoy  yourself,"  says  I.  "  That 
pair'll  do  no  more  sleut'in'  for  awhile.  I'll  keep  'em 
half  an  hour,  anyway,  before  I  throws  'em  out  in  the 
street." 

"  I'm  awfully  obliged,  Shorty,"  says  he. 

"  Don't  mention  it,"  says  I.    "  It's  been  a  pleasure." 

That  was  no  dream,  either.  Say,  it  did  me  most  as 
much  good  as  a  trip  to  Coney,  stringin'  them  trussed 
up  keyhole  gazers. 

I/I 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

"  Your  names'll  look  nice  in  the  paper,"  says  I,  "  and 
when  your  cases  come  up  at  Special  Sessions  maybe 
your  friends'll  all  have  reserved  seats.  Sweet  pair  of 
pigeon  toed  junk  collectors,  you  are !  " 

If  they  wa'n't  sick  of  the  trailin'  business  before  I 
turned  'em  loose,  it  wa'n't  my  fault.  From  the  re- 
marks they  made  as  they  went  down  the  stairs  I  sus- 
picioned  they  was  some  sore  on  me.  But  now  and 
then  I  runs  across  folks  that  I'm  kind  of  proud  to 
have  feel  that  way.  Private  detectives  is  in  that  class. 

I  was  still  on  the  grin,  and  thinkin'  how  real  cute 
I'd  been,  when  I  hears  heavy  steps  on  the  stairs,  and 
in  blows  Rossiter's  old  man,  short  of  breath  and  wall 
eyed. 

"  Where's  he  gone  ?  "  says  he. 

"Which  one?  "says  I. 

"  Why,  that  fool  boy  of  mine ! "  says  the  old  man. 
"I've  just  had  word  that  he  was  here  less  than  an 
hour  ago." 

"  You  got  a  straight  tip,"  says  I. 

"  Well,  where  did  he  go  from  here  ?  "  says  he. 

"  I'm  a  poor  guesser,"  says  I,  "  and  he  didn't  leave 
any  word ;  but  if  you  was  to  ask  my  opinion,  I'd  say 
that  most  likely  he  was  behavin'  himself,  wherever  he 
was." 

"  Huh !  "  growls  the  old  man.  "  That  shows  how 
little  you  know  about  him.  He's  off  being  married, 

172 


WHEN    ROSSITER   CUT   LOOSE 

pr«bably  to  some  yellow  haired  chorus  girl;  that's 
where  he  is !  " 

"What!    Rossy?"  says  I. 

Honest,  I  thought  the  old  man  must  have  gone 
batty;  but  when  he  tells  me  the  whole  yarn  I  begins 
to  feel  like  I'd  swallowed  a  foolish  powder.  Seems 
that  Rossiter's  mother  had  been  noticin'  symptoms  in 
him  for  some  time;  but  they  hadn't  nailed  anything 
until  that  evenin',  when  the  chump  butler  turns  in  a 
note  that  he  shouldn't  have  let  go  of  until  next  mornin'. 
It  was  from  Rossiter,  and  says  as  how,  by  the  time  she 
reads  that,  he'll  have  gone  and  done  it. 

"  But  how  do  you  figure  out  that  he's  picked  a  squab 
for  his'n  ?  "  says  I. 

"  Because  they're  the  kind  that  would  be  most  likely 
to  trap  a  young  chuckle  head  like  Rossiter,"  says  the 
old  man.  "  It's  what  I've  been  afraid  of  for  a  long 
time.  Who  else  would  be  likely  to  marry  him? 
Come !  you  don't  imagine  I  think  he's  an  Apollo,  just 
because  he's  my  son,  do  you  ?  And  don't  you  suppose 
I've  found  out,  in  all  these  years,  that  he  hasn't  sense 
enough  to  pound  sand?  But  I  can't  stay  here.  I've 
got  to  try  and  stop  it,  before  it's  too  late.  If  you 
think  you  can  be  of  any  help,  you  can  come  along." 

Well  say,  I  didn't  see  how  I'd  fit  into  a  hunt  of  that 
kind ;  and  as  for  knowin'  what  to  do,  I  hadn't  a  thought 
in  my  head  just  then;  but  seein'  as  how  I'd  butted  in, 

173 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

it  didn't  seem  no  more'n  right  that  I  should  stay  with 
the  game.  So  I  tags  along,  and  we  climbs  into  the 
old  man's  electric  cab. 

"We'll  go  to  Dr.  Piecrust's  first,  and  see  if  he's 
there,"  says  he,  "  that  being  our  church." 

Well,  he  wa'n't.  And  they  hadn't  seen  him  at  an- 
other minister's  that  the  old  man  said  Rossy  knew. 

"  If  she  was  an  actorine,"  says  I,  "  she'd  be  apt  to 
steer  him  to  the  place  where  they  has  most  of  their 
splicin'  done.  Why  not  try  there  ? " 

"  Good  idea ! "  says  he,  and  we  lights  out  hot  foot 
for  the  Little  Church  Around  the  Corner. 

And  say !  Talk  about  your  long  shots !  As  we  piles 
out  what  should  I  see  but  the  carrotty  topped  night 
hawk  that'd  had  Rossy  and  me  for  fares  earlier  in  the 
evenin'. 

"  You're  a  winner,"  says  I  to  the  old  man.  "  It's 
a  case  of  waitin'  at  the  church.  Ten  to  one  you'll 
find  Rossiter  inside." 

It  was  a  cinch.  Rossy  was  the  first  one  we  saw  as 
we  got  into  the  anteroom. 

It  wa'n't  what  you'd  call  a  real  affectionate  meetin'. 
The  old  man  steps  up  and  eyes  him  for  a  minute,  like 
a  dyspeptic  lookin'  at  a  piece  of  overdone  steak  in  a 
restaurant,  and  then  he  remarks :  "  What  blasted  non- 
sense is  this,  sir?" 

174 


WHEN    ROSSITER    CUT   LOOSE 

"  Why,"  says  Rossy,  shiftin'  from  one  foot  to  the 
other,  and  grinnin'  foolisher'n  I  ever  saw  him  grin 
before — "  why,  I  just  thought  I'd  get  married,  that's 
all." 

"  That's  all,  eh  ?  "  says  the  old  man,  and  you  could 
have  filed  a  saw  with  his  voice.  "  Sort  of  a  happy  in- 
spiration of  the  moment,  was  it?  " 

"Well,"  says  Rossy,  "not — not  exactly  that.  I'd 
been  thinking  of  it  for  some  time,  sir." 

"  The  deuce  you  say ! "  says  the  old  man. 

"  I — I  didn't  think  you'd  object,"  says  Rossy. 

"  Wow !"  says  the  old  man.  He'd  been  holdin'  in 
a  long  spell,  for  him,  but  then  he  just  boiled  over, 
"  See  here,  you  young  rascal !  "  says  he.  "  What  do 
you  mean  by  talking  that  way  to  me?  Didn't  think 
I'd  object !  D'ye  suppose  I'm  anxious  to  have  all  New 
York  know  that  my  son's  been  made  a  fool  of  ?  Think 
your  mother  and  I  are  aching  to  have  one  of  these 
bleached  hair  chorus  girls  in  the  family?  Got  her  in- 
side there,  have  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir/'  says  Rossy. 

"  Well,  bring  her  out  here !  "  says  the  old  man. 
"  I've  got  something  to  say  to  her." 

"All  right,  sir,"  says  Rossy.  If  there  ever  was  a 
time  for  throwin'  the  hooks  into  a  parent,  it  was 
then.  But  he's  as  good  humoured  and  quiet  about 

175 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

it  as  though  he'd  just  been  handed  a  piece  of  peach 
pie.  "  I'll  bring  her  right  out,"  says  he. 

When  he  comes  in  with  the  lady,  the  old  man  takes 
one  look  at  her  and  almost  loses  his  breath  for  good. 

"  Eunice  May  Ogden !  "  says  he.  "  Why — why  on 
earth  didn't  you  say  so  before,  Rossy  ?  " 

"Oh,  hush!"  says  the  lady.  "Do  be  still!  Can't 
you  see  that  we're  right  in  the  middle  of  an  elope- 
ment?" 

Never  saw  Eunice  May,  did  you  ?  Well,  that's  what 
you  miss  by  not  travellin'  around  with  the  swells,  same 
as  me.  I  had  seen  her.  And  say,  she's  somethin'  of 
a  sight,  too !  She's  a  prize  pumpkin,  Eunice  is.  May- 
be she's  some  less'n  seven  feet  in  her  lisle  threads,  but 
she  looks  every  inch  of  it ;  and  when  it  comes  to  curves, 
she  has  Lillian  Russell  pared  to  a  lamp  post.  She'd 
be  a  good  enough  looker  if  she  wa'n't  such  a  whale. 
As  twins,  she'd  be  -a  pair  of  beauts,  but  the  way  she 
stands,  she's  most  too  much  of  a  good  thing. 

Pinckney  says  they  call  her  the  Ogden  sinking  fund 
among  his  crowd.  I've  heard  'em  say  that  old  man 
Ogden,  who's  a  little,  dried  up  runt  of  about  five 
feet  nothin',  has  never  got  over  bein'  surprised  at  the 
size  Eunice  has  growed  to.  When  she  was  about  four- 
teen and  weighed  only  a  hundred  and  ninety  odd,  he 
and  Mother  Ogden  figured  a  lot  on  marryin'  Eunice 
into  the  House  of  Lords,  like  they  did  her  sister,  but 

176 


WHEN    ROSSITER    CUT   LOOSE 

they  gave  all  that  up  when  she  topped  the  two  hundred 
mark. 

Standin'  there  with  Rossiter,  they  loomed  up  like  a 
dime  museum  couple ;  but  they  was  lookin'  happy,  and 
gazin'  at  each  other  in  that  mushy  way — you  know 
how. 

"  Say,"  says  Rossiter's  old  man,  sizin'  'em  up  care- 
ful, "  is  it  all  true  ?  Do  you  think  as  much  of  one 
another  as  all  that?" 

There  wa'n't  any  need  of  their  sayin'  so ;  but  Rossy 
speaks  up  prompt  for  the  only  time  in  his  life.  He 
told  how  they'd  been  spoons  on  each  other  for  more'n 
a  year,  but  hadn't  dared  let  on  because  they  was 
afraid  of  bein'  kidded.  It  was  the  same  way  about 
gettin'  married.  Course,  their  bein'  neighbours  on 
the  avenue,  and  all  that,  he  must  have  known  that  the 
folks  on  either  side  wouldn't  kick,  but  neither  one  of 
'em  had  the  nerve  to  stand  for  a  big  weddin',  so  they 
just  made  up  their  minds  to  slide  off  easy  and  have 
it  all  through  before  anyone  had  a  chance  to  give 
'em  the  jolly. 

"  But  now  that  you've  found  it  out,"  says  Rossiter, 
"  I  suppose  you'll  want  us  to  wait  and " 

"  Wait  nothing !  "  says  the  old  man,  jammin'  on  his 
hat.  "  Don't  you  wait  a  minute  on  my  account.  Go 
ahead  with  your  elopement.  I'll  clear  out.  I'll  go 
up  to  the  club  and  find  Ogden,  and  when  you 

177 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

have  had  the  knot  tied- good  and  fast,  you  come  home 
and  receive  a  double  barrelled  blessing." 

About  that  time  the  minister  that  they'd  been  waitin' 
for  shows  up,  and  before  I  knows  it  I've  been  rung 
in.  Well,  say,  it  was  my  first  whack  playin'  back  stop 
at  a  weddin',  and  perhaps  I  put  up  a  punk  perform- 
ance; but  inside  of  half  an  hour  the  job  was  done. 

And  of  all  the  happy  reunions  I  was  ever  lugged 
into,  it  was  when  Rossiter's  folks  and  the  Ogdens  got 
together  afterwards.  They  were  so  tickled  to  get  them 
two  freak  left  overs  off  their  hands  that  they  almost 
adopted  me  into  both  families,  just  for  the  little  stunt 
I  did  in  bilkin'  them  P.  D.'s. 


178 


XII 
TWO   ROUNDS    WITH    SYLVIE 

IF  it  hadn't  been  for  givin'  Chester  a  show  to  make 
a  gallery  play,  you  wouldn't  have  caught  me  takin' 
a  bite  out  of  the  quince,  the  way  I  did  the  other  night. 
But  say,  when  a  young  sport  has  spent  the  best  part 
of  a  year  learnin'  swings  and  ducks  and  footwork,  and 
when  fancy  boxin's  about  all  the  stunt  he's  got  on  his 
program,  it's  no  more'n  right  he  should  give  an  exhibi- 
tion, specially  if  that's  what  he  aches  to  do.  And 
Chester  did  have  that  kind  of  a  longin'. 

"  Who  are  you  plannin'  to  have  in  the  audience, 
Chetty?"  says  I. 

"  Why,"  says  he,  "  there'll  be  three  or  four  of  the 
fellows  up,  and  maybe  some  of  the  crowd  that  mother's 
invited  will  drop  in  too." 
i     "  Miss  Angelica  likely  to  be  in  the  bunch  ?  "  says  I. 

Chester  pinks  up  at  that  and  tries  to  make  out  he 
hadn't  thought  anything  about  Angelica's  bein'  there 
at  all.  But  I'd  heard  a  lot  about  this  particular  young 
lady,  and  when  I  sees  the  colour  on  Chester  his 
plan  was  as  clear  as  if  the  entries  was  posted  on  a 
board. 

179 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

"  All  right,  Chetty,"  says  I ;  "  have  it  any  way  you 
say.  I'll  be  up  early  Saturday  night" 

So  that's  what  I  was  doin'  in  the  smoker  on  the 
five-nine,  with  my  gym.  suit  and  gaslight  clothes  in 
a  kit  bag  up  on  the  rack.  Just  as  they  shuts  the  gates 
and  gives  the  word  to  pull  out,  in  strolls  the  last  man 
aboard  and  piles  in  alongside  of  me.  I  wouldn't  have 
noticed  him  special  if  he  hadn't  squinted  at  the  ticket 
I'd  stuck  in  the  seat  back,  and  asked  if  I  was  goin' 
to  get  off  at  that  station. 

"  I  was  thinkin'  some  of  it  when  I  paid  my  fare," 
says  I. 

"  Ah !  "  says  he,  kind  of  gentle  and  blinkin'  his  eyes. 
"  That  is  my  station,  too.  Might  I  trouble  you  to  re- 
mind me  of  the  fact  when  we  arrive?  " 

"  Sure,"  says  I ;  "  I'll  wake  you  up." 

He  gives  me  another  blink,  pulls  a  little  readin' 
book  out  of  his  pocket,  slumps  down  into  the  seat,  and 
proceeds  to  act  like  he'd  gone  into  a  trance. 

Say,  I  didn't  need  more'n  one  glimpse  to  size  him 
up  for  a  freak.  The  Angora  haircut  was  tag  enough 
— reg'lar  Elbert  Hubbard  thatch  he  was  wearin',  all 
fluffy  and  wavy,  and  just  clearin'  his  coat  collar.  That 
and  the  artist's  necktie,  not  to  mention  the  eye  glasses 
with  the  tortoise  shell  rims,  put  him  in  the  self  adver- 
tisin'  class  without  his  sayin'  a  word. 

Outside  of  the  frills,  he  wa'n't  a  bad  lookin'  chap, 
180 


TWO    ROUNDS   WITH   SYLVIE 

and  sizable  enough  for  a  'longshoreman,  only  you  could 
tell  by  the  lily  white  hands  and  the  long  fingernails 
that  him  and  toil  never  got  within  speakin'  dis- 
tance. 

"Wonder  what  particular  brand  of  mollycoddle  he 
is?"  thinks  I. 

Now  there  wa'n't  any  call  for  me  to  put  him  through 
the  catechism,  just  because  he  was  headed  for  the 
same  town  I  was ;  but  somehow  I  had  an  itch  to  take  a 
rise  out  of  him.  So  I  leans  over  and  gets  a  peek  at 
the  book. 

"  Readin'  po'try,  eh  ?  "  says  I,  swallowin'  a  grin. 

"  Beg  pardon  ?  "  says  he,  kind  of  shakin'  himself  to- 
gether. "  Yes,  this  is  poetry — Swinburne,  you  know," 
and  he  slumps  down  again  as  if  he'd  said  all  there  was 
to  say. 

But  when  I  starts  out  to  be  sociable  you  can't  head 
me  off  that  way.  "  Like  it  ?  "  says  I. 

"  Why,  yes,"  says  he,  "  very  much,  indeed.  Don't 
you?" 

He  thought  he  had  me  corked  there;  but  I  comes 
right  back  at  him.  "  Nix !  "  says  I.  "  Swinny's  stuff 
always  hit  me  as  bein'  kind  of  punk." 

"  Really !  "  says  he,  liftin'  his  eyebrows.  "  Perhaps 
you  have  been  unfortunate  in  your  selections.  Now 
take  this,  from  the  Anactoria " 

And  say,  I  got  what  was  comin'  to  me  then.  He 
181 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

tears  off  two  or  three  yards  of  it,  all  about  moonlight 
and  stars  and  kissin'  and  lovin',  and  a  lot  of  gush  like 
that.  Honest,  it  would  give  you  an  ache  under  your 
vest! 

"  There !  "  says  he.     "  Isn't  that  beautiful  imagery  ?  " 

"  Maybe,"  says  I.  "  Guess  I  never  happened  to 
light  on  that  part  before." 

"  But  surely  you  are  familiar  with  his  Madonna 
Mia  ?  "  says  he. 

"  That  got  past  me  too,"  says  I. 

"  It's  here,"  says  he,  speakin'  up  quick.  "  Wait. 
Ah,  this  is  it !  "  and  hanged  if  he  don't  give  me  another 
dose,  with  more  love  in  it  than  you  could  get  in  a 
bushel  of  valentines,  and  about  as  much  sense  as  if 
he'd  been  readin'  the  dictionary  backwards.  He  does 
it  well,  though,  just  as  if  it  all  meant  something ;  and 
me  settin'  there  listenin'  until  I  felt  like  I'd  been 
doped. 

"  Say,  I  take  it  all  back,"  says  I  when  he  lets  up. 
"  That  Swinny  chap  maybe  ain't  quite  up  to  Wallace 
Irwin ;  but  he's  got  Ella  Wheeler  pushed  through  the 
ropes.  I've  got  to  see  a  friend  in  the  baggage  car, 
though,  and  if  you'll  let  me  climb  out  past  I'll  speak 
to  the  brakeman  about  puttin'  you  off  where  you 
belong." 

"  You're  very  kind,"  says  he.  "  Regret  you  can't 
stay  longer." 

182 


TWO   ROUNDS   WITH   SYLVIE 

Was  that  a  josh,  or  what?  Anyway,  I  figures  I'm 
gettin'  off  easy,  for  there  was  a  lot  more  of  that  blamed 
book  he  might  have  pumped  into  me  if  I  hadn't 
ducked. 

"  Never  again ! "  says  I  to  myself.  "  Next  time  I 
gets  curious  I'll  keep  my  mouth  shut." 

I  wa'n't  takin'  any  chances  of  his  holdin'  me  up  on 
the  station  platform  when  we  got  off,  either.  I  was 
the  first  man  to  swing  from  the  steps,  and  I  makes  a 
bee  line  for  the  road  leadin'  out  towards  Chester's 
place,  not  stoppin'  for  a  hack.  Pretty  soon  who  should 
come  drivin'  after  me  but  Curlylocks.  He  still  has  his 
book  open,  though ;  so  he  gets  by  without  spottin'  me, 
and  I  draws  a  long  breath. 

By  the  time  I'd  hoofed  over  the  two  miles  between 
the  stations  and  where  Chester  lives  I'd  done  a  lot  of 
breathin'.  It  was  quite  some  of  a  place  to  get  to,  one 
of  these  new-model  houses,  that  wears  the  plasterin' 
on  the  outside  and  has  a  roof  made  of  fancy  drain 
pipe.  It's  balanced  right  on  the  edge  of  the  rocks, 
with  the  whole  of  Long  Island  sound  for  a  back  yard 
and  more'n  a  dozen  acres  of  private  park  between  it 
and  the  road. 

"Gee!"  says  I  to  Chester,  "I  should  think  this 
would  be  as  lonesome  as  livin'  in  a  lighthouse." 

"  Not  with  the  mob  that  mother  usually  has  around," 
says  he. 

183 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

If  the  attendance  that  night  was  a  sample,  I  guess 
he  was  right;  for  the  bunch  that  answers  the  dinner 
gong  would  have  done  credit  to  a  summer  hotel. 
Seems  that  Chester's  old  man  had  been  a  sour,  un- 
sociable old  party  in  his  day,  keepin'  the  fam'ly  shut 
up  in  a  thirty-foot-front  city  house  that  was  about  as 
cheerful  as  a  tomb,  and  havin'  comp'ny  to  dinner 
reg'lar  once  a  year. 

But  when  he  finally  quit  breathin',  and  the  lawyers 
had  pried  the  checkbook  out  of  his  grip,  mother  had 
sailed  in  to  make  up  for  lost  time.  It  wasn't  bridge 
and  pink  teas.  She'd  always  had  a  hankerin'  for 
minglin'  with  the  high  brows,  and  it  was  them  she  went 
gunnin'  for, — anything  from  a  college  president  down 
to  lady  novelists.  Anybody  that  could  paint  a  prize 
picture,  or  break  into  print  in  the  thirty-five-cent  maga- 
zines, or  get  his  name  up  as  havin'  put  the  scoop  net 
over  a  new  germ,  could  win  a  week  of  first  class  board 
from  her  by  just  sendin'  in  his  card. 

But  it  was  tough  on  Chester,  havin'  that  kind  of 
a  gang  around  all  the  time,  clutterin'  up  the  front 
hall  with  their  extension  grips  and  droppin'  poly- 
syllables in  the  soup.  Chetty's  brow  was  a  low  cut. 
Maybe  he  had  a  full  set  of  brains;  but  he  hadn't 
ever  had  to  work  'em  overtime,  and  he  didn't  seem 
anxious  to  try.  About  all  the  heavy  thinkin'  he  did 
was  when  he  was  orderin'  lunch  at  the  club.  But 

184 


TWO    ROUNDS   WITH   SYLVIE 

he  was  a  big,  full  blooded,  good  natured  young  feller, 
and  with  the  exercise  he  got  around  to  the  Studio  he 
kept  in  pretty  good  trim. 

How  he  ever  come  to  get  stuck  on  a  girl  like 
Angelica,  though,  was  more'n  I  could  account  for. 
She's  one  of  these  slim,  big  eyed,  breathless,  gushy 
sort  of  females;  the  kind  that  tends  out  on  picture 
shows,  and  piano  recitals,  and  Hindu  lectures.  Ches- 
ter seems  to  have  a  bad  case  of  it,  though. 

"  Is  she  on  hand  to-night,  Chetty  ?  "  says  I. 

He  owns  up  that  she  was.  "  And  say,  Shorty," 
says  he,  "  I  want  you  to  meet  her.  Come  on,  now. 
I've  told  her  a  lot  about  you." 

"  That  bein'  the  case,"  says  I,  "  here's  where 
Angelica  gets  a  treat,"  and  we  starts  out  to  hunt  for 
her,  Chester's  plan  bein'  to  make  me  the  excuse  for 
the  boxin'  exhibit. 

But  Angelica  didn't  seem  to  be  so  easy  to  locate. 
First  we  strikes  the  music  room,  where  a  heavy 
weight  gent  lately  come  over  from  Warsaw  is  tearin* 
a  thunder  storm  out  of  the  southwest  corner  of  the 
piano. 

The  room  was  full  of  folks;  but  nary  sign  of 
the  girl  with  the  eyes.  Nor  she  wa'n't  in  the  libr'y, 
where  a  four-eyed  duck  with  a  crop  of  rusty  chin 
spinach  was  gassin'  away  about  the  sun  spots,  or  some- 
thing. Say,  there  was  'most  any  kind  of  brain  stimu- 

185 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

lation  you  could  name  bein'  handed  out  in  diff'rent 
parts  of  that  house;  but  Angelica  wa'n't  to  any  of 
'em. 

It  was  just  by  accident,  as  we  was  takin'  a  turn 
around  one  of  the  verandas  facin'  the  water,  that 
we  runs  across  a  couple  camped  down  in  a  corner 
seat  under  a  big  palm.  The  girl  in  pink  radium  silk 
was  Angelica.  And  say,  by  moonlight  she's  a  bunch 
of  honeysuckle!  The  other  party  was  our  old  friend 
Curlylocks,  and  I  has  to  grin  at  the  easy  way  he  has 
of  pickin'  out  the  best  looker  in  sight  and  leadin'  her 
off  where  she  wouldn't  have  to  listen  to  anybody  but 
him.  He  has  the  po'try  tap  turned  on  full  blast,  and 
the  girl  is  listenin'  as  pleased  as  if  she  had  never 
heard  anything  better  in  her  life. 

"  Confound  him !  "  says  Chester  under  his  breath. 
"  He's  here  again,  is  he  ?  " 

"  Looks  like  this  part  of  the  house  was  gettin' 
crowded,  Chetty,"  says  I.  "  Let's  back  out." 

"  Hanged  if  I  do !  "  says  he,  and  proceeds  to  do 
the  butt  in  act  about  as  gentle  as  a  truck  horse  boltin' 
through  a  show  window.  "  Oh,  you're  here,  Angel- 
ica !  "  he  growls  out.  "  I've  been  hunting  all  over  the 
shop  for  you." 

"  S-s-sh !  "  says  Angelica,  holding  up  one  finger  and 
wavin'  him  off  with  the  other  hand. 

"  Yes,  I  see,"  says  Chester ;  "  but " 

186 


HE   HAS  THE   PO'TRY  TAP  TURNED   ON    FULL  BLAST 


TWO    ROUNDS   WITH   SYLVIE 

"  Oh,  please  run  away  and  don't  bother !  "  says  she. 
"  That's  a  good  boy,  now  Chester." 

"  Oh,  darn !  "  says  Chester. 

That  was  the  best  he  could  do  too,  for  they  don't 
even  wait  to  see  us  start.  Angelica  gives  us  a.  fine 
view  of  her  back  hair,  and  Mr.  Curlylocks  begins 
where  he  left  off,  and  spiels  away.  It  was  a  good 
deal  the  same  kind  of  rot  he  had  shoved  at  me  on 
the  train, — all  about  hearts  and  lovin'  and  so  on, — 
only  here  he  throws  in  business  with  the  eyelashes,  and 
seems  to  have  pulled  out  the  soft  vocal  stops. 

Chester  stands  by  for  a  minute,  tryin'  to  look  holes 
through  'em,  and  then  he  lets  me  lead  him  off. 

"  Now  what  do  you  think  of  that?  "  says  he,  makin' 
a  face  like  he'd  tasted  something  that  had  been  too 
long  in  the  can. 

"  Why,"  says  I,  "  it's  touchin',  if  true.  Who's  the 
home  destroyer  with  the  vaseline  voice  and  the  fuzzy 
nut?" 

"  He  calls  himself  Sylvan  Vickers,"  says  Chester. 
"  He's  a  poet — a  sappy,  slushy,  milk  and  water  poet. 
Writes  stuff  about  birds  and  flowers  and  love,  and 
goes  around  spouting  it  to  women." 

"  Why,"  says  I,  "  he  peeled  off  a  few  strips  for  me, 
comin'  up  on  the  cars,  and  I  though  it  was  hot 
stuff." 

"  Honest,  Shorty,"  says  Chester,  swallowin'  the 
187 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

string  as  fast  as  I  could  unwind  the  ball,  "  you — you 
don't  like  that  kind  of  guff,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  well,"  says  I,  "  I  don't  wake  up  in  the  night 
and  cry  for  it,  and  maybe  I  can  worry  along  for  the 
next  century  or  so  without  hearin'  any  more ;  but  he's 
sure  found  some  one  that  does  like  it,  eh  ?  " 

There's  no  sayin'  but  what  Chester  held  himself 
in  well;  for  if  ever  a  man  was  entitled  to  a  grouch, 
it  was  him.  But  he  says  mighty  little,  just  walks  off 
scowlin'  and  settin'  his  teeth  hard.  I  knew  what  was 
good  for  that ;  so  I  hints  that  he  round  up  his  chappies 
and  go  down  into  the  gym.  to  work  it  off. 

Chetty's  enthusiasm  for  mitt  jugglin'  has  all  petered 
out,  though,  and  it's  some  time  before  I  can  make 
him  see  it  my  way.  Then  we  has  to  find  his  crowd, 
that  was  scattered  around  in  the  different  rooms,  lone- 
some and  tired ;  so  it's  late  in  the  evenin'  before  we  got 
under  way. 

Chester  and  me  have  had  a  round  or  so,  and  he'd 
just  wore  out  one  of  his  friends  and  was  tryin'  to  tease 
somebody  else  to  put  'em  on,  when  I  spots  a  rubber 
neck  in  the  back  of  the  hall. 

"  O-o-h,  see  who's  here,  Chetty !  "  says  I,  whisperin' 
over  his  shoulder. 

It  was  our  poet  friend,  that  has  had  to  give  up 
Angelica  to  her  maw.  He's  been  strayin'  around  loose, 
and  has  wandered  in  through  the  gym.  doors  by  luck. 

188 


TWO   ROUNDS   WITH   SYLVIE 

Now,  Chester  may  not  have  any  mighty  intellect,  but 
there's  times  when  he  can  think  as  quick  as  the  next 
one.  He  takes  one  glance  at  Curlylocks,  and  stiffens 
up  like  a  bird  dog  pointin'  a  partridge. 

"  Say,"  says  he  all  excited,  "  do  you  suppose — could 
we  get  him  to  put  them  on  ?  " 

"  Not  if  you  showed  you  was  so  anxious  as  all  that," 
says  I. 

"  Then  you  ask  him,  Shorty,"  he  whispers.  "  I'll 
give  a  hundred  for  just  one  round — two  hundred." 

"  S-s-sh !  "  says  I.     "  Take  it  easy." 

Ever  see  an  old  lady  tryin'  to  shoo  a  rooster  into 
a  fence  corner,  while  the  old  man  waited  around  the 
end  of  the  woodshed  with  the  axe?  You  know  how 
gentle  and  easy  the  trick  has  to  be  worked  ?  Well,  that 
was  me  explainin'  to  Curlylocks  how  we  was  havin'  a 
little  exercise  with  the  kid  pillows, — oh,  just  a  little 
harmless  tappin'  back  and  forth,  so's  we  could  sleep 
well  afterwards, — and  didn't  he  feel  like  tryin'  it  for  a 
minute  with  Chester?  Smooth!  Some  of  that  talk 
of  mine  would  have  greased  an  axle. 

Sylvie,  old  boy,  he  blinks  at  me  through  his  glasses, 
like  a  poll  parrot  sizin'  up  a  firecracker  that  little  Jimmy 
wants  to  hand  him.  He  don't  say  anything,  but  he 
seems  some  interested.  He  reaches  out  for  one  of  the 
mitts  and  pokes  a  finger  into  the  paddin',  lookin'  it 
over  as  if  it  was  some  kind  of  a  curiosity. 

180 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

"  Reg'lar  swan's  down  cushions,"  says  I. 

"  Like  to  have  you  try  a  round  or  so,  Vickers,"  puts 
in  Chester,  as  careless  as  he  could.  "  Professor  Mc- 
Cabe  will  show  you  how  to  put  them  on." 

"  Ah,  really  ?  "  says  Curlylocks.  Then  he  has  to  step 
up  and  inspect  Chester's  frame  up. 

"  That's  the  finish !  "  thinks  I ;  for  Chetty's  a  well 
built  boy,  good  and  bunchy  around  the  shoulders,  and 
when  he  peels  down  to  a  sleeveless  jersey  he  looks 
'most  as  wicked  as  Sharkey.  But,  just  as  we're  ex- 
pectin'  Curlylocks  to  show  how  wise  he  was,  he  throws 
out  a  bluff  that  leaves  us  gaspin'  for  breath. 

"  Do  you  know,"  says  he,  "  if  I  was  in  the 
mood  for  that  sort  of  thing,  I'd  be  charmed;  but — 
er " 

"Oh,  fudge  1"  says  Chetty.  "I  expect  you'd 
rather  recite  us  some  poetry  ?  "  And  at  that  one  of 
Chester's  chums  snickers  right  out.  Sylvie  flushes  up 
like  some  one  had  slapped  him  on  the  wrist. 

"  Beg  pardon,"  says  he ;  "  but  I  believe  I  will  try 
it  for  a  little  while,"  and  he  holds  out  his  paws  for  me 
to  slip  on  the  gloves. 

"  Better  shed  the  parlour  clothes,"  says  I.  "  You're 
liable  to  get  'em  dusty,"  which  last  tickles  the  audience 
a  lot 

He  didn't  want  to  peel  off  even  his  Tuxedo;  but 
I  jollies  him  into  lettin'  go  of  it,  and  partin'  with  his 

190 


TWO    ROUNDS   WITH   SYLVIE 

collar  and  white  tie  and  eye  glasses  too.  That  was 
as  far  as  he'd  go,  though. 

Course,  it  was  kind  of  a  low  down  game  to  put 
up  on  anybody;  but  Curlylocks  wa'n't  outclassed  any 
in  height,  nor  much  in  weight ;  and,  seein'  as  how  he'd 
kind  of  laid  himself  open  to  something  of  the  sort,  I 
didn't  feel  as  bad  as  I  might.  All  the  time,  Chester 
was  tryin'  to  keep  the  grin  off  his  face,  and  his  chums 
was  most  wearin'  their  elbows  out  nudgin'  each  other. 

"  Now,"  says  I,  when  I've  got  Curlylocks  ready  for 
the  slaughter,  "  what'll  it  be — two-minute  rounds  ?  " 

"  Quite  satisfactory,"  says  Sylvie ;  and  Chetty  nods. 

"  Then  let  'er  go !  "  says  I,  steppin'  back. 

One  thing  I've  always  coached  Chester  on,  was 
openin'  lively.  It  don't  make  any  difference  whether 
the  mitts  are  hard  or  soft,  whether  it's  a  go  to  a 
finish  or  a  private  bout  for  fun,  there's  no  sense  in 
wastin'  the  first  sixty  seconds  in  stirrin'  up  the  air. 
The  thing  to  do  is  to  bore  in.  And  Chester  didn't 
need  any  urgin'.  He  cuts  loose  with  both  bunches, 
landin'  a  right  on  the  ribs  and  pokin'  the  left  into  the 
middle  of  Sylvie's  map;  so  sudden  that  Mr.  Poet 
heaves  up  a  grunt  way  from  his  socks. 

"  Ah,  string  it  out,  Chetty,"  says  I.  "  String  it  out, 
so's  it'll  last  longer." 

But  he's  like  a  hungry  kid  with  a  hokypoky  sand- 
wich,— he  wants  to  take  it  all  at  one  bite.  And  may- 

191 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

be  if  I'd  been  as  much  gone  on  Angelica  as  he  was, 
and  had  been  put  on  a  siding  for  this  moonlight  po'try 
business,  I'd  been  just  as  anxious.  So  he  wades  in 
again  with  as  fine  a  set  of  half  arm  jolts  as  he  has  in 
stock. 

By  this  time  Sylvie  has  got  his  guard  up  proper, 
and  is  coverin'  himself  almost  as  good  as  if  he  knew 
how.  He  does  it  a  little  awkward;  but  somehow 
Chetty  couldn't  seem  to  get  through. 

"  Give  him  the  cross  hook ! "  sings  out  one  of  the 
boys. 

Chester  tries,  but  it  didn't  work.  Then  he  springs 
another  rush,  and  they  goes  around  like  a  couple 
of  pinwheels,  with  nothin'  gettin'  punished  but  the 
gloves. 

"  Time ! "  says  I,  and  leads  Sylvie  over  to  a  chair. 
He  was  puffin'  some,  but  outside  of  that  he  was  as 
good  as  new.  "  Good  blockin',  old  man,"  says  I. 
"  You're  doin'  fine.  Keep  that  up  and  you'll  be  all 
right." 

"  Think  so  ?  "  says  he,  reachin'  for  the  towel. 

The  second  spasm  starts  off  different.  Curlylocks 
seems  to  be  more  awake  than  he  was,  and  the  first 
thing  we  knows  he's  fiddlin'  for  an  openin'  in  the  good 
old  fashioned  way. 

"And  there's  where  you  lose  out,  son,"  thinks  I. 

I  hadn't  got  through  thinkin'  before  things  begun 
192 


TWO    ROUNDS   WITH    SYLVIE 

happenin'.  Sylvie  seems  to  unlimber  from  the  waist 
up,  and  his  arms  acted  like  he'd  let  out  an  extra 
link  in  'em.  Funny  I  hadn't  noticed  that  reach  of 
his  before.  For  a  second  or  so  he  only  steps  around 
Chester,  shootin'  out  first  one  glove  and  then  the  other, 
and  plantin'  little  love  pats  on  different  parts  of  him,  ' 
as  if  he  was  locatin'  the  right  spots. 

Chetty  don't  like  havin'  his  bumps  felt  of  that 
way,  and  comes  back  with  a  left  swing  followed  by 
an  upper  cut.  They  was  both  a  little  wild,  and  they 
didn't  connect.  That  wa'n't  the  worst  of  it,  though. 
Before  he's  through  with  that  foolishness  Sylvie  turns 
them  long  arms  of  his  into  a  rapid  fire  battery,  and 
his  mitts  begin  to  touch  up  them  spots  he's  picked  out 
at  the  rate  of  about  a  hundred  bull's  eyes  to  the 
minute.  It  was  bing — bing — bing — biff ! — with 
Chetty's  arms  swingin'  wide,  and  his  block  rockin', 
and  his  breath  comin'  short,  and  his  knees  gettin'  as 
wabbly  as  a  new  boy  speakin'  a  piece.  Before  I  can 
call  the  round  Curlylocks  has  put  the  steam  into  a 
jaw  punch  that  sends  Chester  to  the  mat  as  hard  as 
though  he'd  been  dropped  out  of  a  window. 

"  Is — is  it  all  over?  "  says  Chetty  when  he  comes  to, 
a  couple  of  minutes  later. 

"  If  you  leave  it  to  me,"  says  I,  "  I  should  say  it 
was;  unless  Mr.  What's-his-name  here  wants  to  try 
that  same  bunch  of  tricks  on  me.  How  about  it?  " 

193 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

"  Much  obliged,  professor,"  say*  Curlylocks,  givin* 
a  last  hitch  to  his  white  tie ;  "  but  I've  seen  you  in  the 
ring." 

"  Well,"  says  I,  "  I've  heard  you  recite  po'try ;  so 
we're  even.  But  say,  you  make  a  whole  lot  better 
showin'  in  my  line  than  I  would  in  yours,  and  if  you 
ever  need  a  backer  in  either,  just  call  on  me." 

We  shakes  hands  on  that;  and  then  Chetty  comes 
to  the  front,  man  fashion,  with  his  flipper  out,  too. 
That  starts  the  reunion,  and  when  I  leaves  'em,  about 
one  A.  M.,  the  Scotch  and  ginger  ale  tide  was  runnin' 
out  fast. 

How  about  Angelica?  Ah,  say,  next  mornin'  there 
shows  up  a  younger,  fresher,  gushier  one  than  she  is, 
and  inside  of  half  an  hour  her  and  Curlylocks  is  close 
together  on  a  bench,  and  he's  got  the  little  book  out 
again.  Angelica  pines  in  the  background  for  about 
three  minutes  before  Chester  comes  around  with  the 
tourin'  car,  and  the  last  I  see  of  'em  they  was  snug- 
gled up  together  in  the  back  of  the  tonneau.  So  I 
guess  Chetty  don't  need  much  sympathisin'  with,  even 
if  he  was  passed  a  couple  of  lime  drops. 


194 


XIII 
GIVING   BOMBAZOULA   THE   HOOK 

MAYBE  I  was  tellin'  you  something  about  them  twc 
rockin'  chair  commodores  from  the  yacht  club,  that 
I've  got  on  my  reg'lar  list?  They're  some  of  Pinck- 
ney's  crowd,  you  know,  and  that's  just  as  good  as 
sayin'  they're  more  ornamental  than  useful.  Anyway, 
that  description's  a  close  fit  for  Purdy. 

First  off  I  couldn't  stand  for  Purdy  at  all.  He's 
one  of  these  natty,  band  box  chappies,  with  straw 
coloured  hair  slicked  down  as  smooth  as  if  he'd  just 
come  up  from  a  dive,  and  a  costume  that  looks  as 
if  it  might  have  been  copied  from  a  stained  glass 
window.  You've  seen  them  symphonies  in  greys  and 
browns,  with  everything  matched  up,  from  their  shirt 
studs  to  their  shoes  buttons?  Now,  I  don't  mind  a 
man's  bein'  a  swell  dresser — I've  got  a  few  hot  vests 
myself — but  this  tryin'  to  be  a  Mr.  Pastelle  is  runnin' 
the  thing  into  the  ground. 

Purdy  could  stand  all  the  improvin'  the  tailor  could 
hand  him,  though.  His  eyes  was  popped  just  enough 
to  give  him  a  continual  surprised  look,  and  there  was 
more  or  less  of  his  face  laid  out  in  nose.  Course,  he 
wa'n't  to  blame  for  that;  but  just  the  same,  when  he 

195 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

gets  to  comin'  to  the  Studio  twice  a  week  for  glove 
work  and  the  chest  weights,  I  passes  him  over  to 
Swifty  Joe.  Honest,  I  couldn't  trust  myself  to  hit 
around  that  nose  proper.  But  Swifty  uses  him  right. 
Them  clothes  of  Purdy's  had  got  Swifty  goin',  and 
he  wouldn't  have  mussed  him  for  a  farm. 

After  I'd  got  used  to  seein'  Purdy  around,  I  didn't 
mind  him  so  much  myself.  He  seemed  to  be  a  well 
meanin',  quiet,  sisterly  sort  of  a  duck,  one  of  the  kind 
that  fills  in  the  corners  at  afternoon  teas}  and  wears 
out  three  pairs  of  pumps  every  winter  leadin*  cotillions. 
You'll  see  his  name  figurin'  in  the  society  notes :  how 
Mrs.  Burgess  Jones  gave  a  dinner  dance  at  Sherry's 
for  the  younger  set,  and  the  cotillion  was  led  by  Mr. 
Purdy  Bligh.  Say,  how's  that  as  a  steady  job  for  a 
grown  man,  eh? 

But  so  long  as  I'm  treated  square  by  anyone,  and 
they  don't  try  to  throw  any  lugs  around  where  I  am, 
I  don't  feel  any  call  to  let  'em  in  on  my  private 
thoughts.  So  Purdy  and  me  gets  along  first  rate; 
and  the  next  thing  I  knows  he's  callin'  me  Shorty, 
and  bein'  as  glad  to  see  me  when  he  conies  in  as  if 
I  was  one  of  his  old  pals.  How  you  goin'  to  dodge 
a  thing  of  that  kind  ?  And  then,  'fore  I  knows  what's 
comin',  I'm  right  in  the  middle  of  this  Bombazoula 
business. 

It  wa'n't  anything  I  butted  into  on  purpose,  now 
196 


GIVING   BOMBAZOULA   THE   HOOK 

you  can  take  that  straight.  It  was  this  way:  I  was 
doin'  my  reg'lar  afternoon  stroll  up  the  avenue,  not 
payin'  much  attention  to  anything  in  particular,  when  a 
cab  pulls  up  at  the  curb,  and  I  looks  around,  to  see 
Purdy  leanin'  over  the  apron  and  makin'  motions  at 
me  with  his  cane. 

"  Hello !  "  says  I.  "  Have  they  got  you  strapped  in 
so  you  can't  get  out  ?  " 

"  By  Jove !  "  says  he,  "  I  never  thought  of  jumping 
out,  you  know.  Beg  pardon,  old  man,  for  hailing  you 
in  that  fashion,  but " 

"Cut  it!"  says  I.  "I  ain't  so  proud  as  all  that. 
What's  doin'?" 

"  It's  rather  a  rummy  go,"  says  he ;  "  but  where  can 
I  buy  some  snakes  ?  " 

"  That's  rummy,  all  right,"  says  I.  "  Have  you 
tried  sendin'  him  to  an  institute  ?  " 

"  Sending  who  ?  "  says  he. 

"  Oh !  "  says  I.  "  I  figured  this  was  a  snake  cure, 
throwin'  a  scare  into  somebody,  that  you  was  plannin'." 

"  Oh,  dear,  no,"  says  Purdy.  "  They're  for  Valen- 
tine. He's  fond  of  snakes,  you  know — can't  get  along 
without  them.  But  they  must  be  big  ones — spotted, 
rings  around  them,  and  all  that." 

"  Gee !  "  says  I.  "  Vally's  snake  tastes  must  be  edu- 
cated 'way  up !  Guess  you'll  have  to  give  in  your  order 
down  at  Lefty  White's." 

197 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

"  And  where  is  that  ?  "  says  he. 

"  William  street,  near  the  bridge,"  says  I.  "  Don't 
you  know  about  Lefty's  ?  " 

Well,  he  didn't;  hadn't  ever  been  below  the  bridge 
on  the  East  Side  in  his  life ;  and  wouldn't  I  please  come 
along,  if  I  could  spare  the  time. 

So  I  climbs  in  alongside  Purdy  and  the  cane,  and 
off  we  goes  down  town,  at  the  rate  of  a  dollar  'n'  a 
half  an  hour.  I  hadn't  got  out  more'n  two  ques- 
tions 'fore  Purdy  cuts  loose  with  the  story  of  his 
life. 

"  It's  almost  the  same  as  asking  me  to  choose  my 
lot  in  the  cemetery,"  says  he,  "  this  notion  of  Aunt 
Isabella's  for  sending  me  out  to  buy  snakes." 

"  I  thought  it  was  Valentine  they  was  for?  "  says  I. 
"  Where  does  he  come  in  ?  " 

That  fetches  us  to  Chapter  One,  which  begins  with 
Aunt  Isabella.  •  It  seems  that  some  time  back,  after 
she'd  planted  one  hubby  in  Ohio  and  another  in  Green- 
wood, and  had  pinned  'em  both  down  secure  with  cut 
granite  slabs,  aunty  had  let  herself  go  for  another  try. 
This  time  she  gets  an  Englishman.  He  couldn't  have 
been  very  tough,  to  begin  with,  for  he  didn't  last  long. 
Neither  did  a  brother  of  his;  although  you  couldn't 
lay  that  up  against  Isabella,  as  brother  in  law  got  him- 
self run  over  by  a  train.  About  all  he  left  was  a  couple 
of  fourteen-year-old  youngsters  stranded  in  a  boarding 

198 


GIVING   BOMBAZOULA   THE    HOOK 

school.  That  was  Purdy  and  Valentine,  and  they 
was  only  half  brothers  at  that,  with  nobody  that  they 
could  look  up  to  for  anything  more  substantial  than 
sympathy.  So  it  was  up  to  the  step-aunt  to  do  the 
rescue  act. 

Well,  Isabella  has  accumulated  all  kinds  of  dough; 
but  she  figures  out  that  the  whole  of  one  half  brother 
was  about  all  she  wanted  as  a  souvenir  to  take  home 
from  dear  old  England.  She  looks  the  two  of  'em 
over  for  a  day,  tryin'  to  decide  which  to  take,  and  then 
Purdy's  'lasses  coloured  hair  wins  out  against  Valen- 
tine's brick  dust  bangs.  She  finds  a  job  for  Vally,  a 
place  where  he  can  almost  earn  a  livin',  gives  him  a 
nice  new  prayer  book  and  her  blessin',  and  cuts  him 
adrift  in  the  fog.  Then  she  grabs  Purdy  by  the  hand 
and  catches  the  next  boat  for  New  York. 

From  then  on  it's  all  to  the  downy  for  Purdy,  bar- 
rin'  the  fact  that  the  old  girl's  more  or  less  tryin'  to 
the  nerves.  She  buys  herself  a  double  breasted  house 
just  off  the  avenue,  gives  Purdy  the  best  there  is  goin', 
and  encourages  him  to  be  as  ladylike  as  he  knows 
how. 

And  say,  what  would  you  expect  ?  I'd  hate  to  think 
of  what  I'd  be  now  if  I'd  been  brought  up  on  a 
course  of  dancin'  school,  music  lessons,  and  Fauntleroy 
suits.  What  else  was  there  for  Purdy  to  do  but  learn 
to  drink  tea  with  lemon  in  it,  and  lead  cotillions? 

199 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

Aunt  Isabella's  been  takin'  on  weight  and  losin'  her 
hearin'.  When  she  gets  so  that  she  can't  eat  chicken 
salad  and  ice  cream  at  one  A.  M.  without  rememberin' 
it  for  three  days,  and  she  has  to  buy  pearls  to  splice  out 
her  necklace,  and  have  an  extra  wide  chair  put  in  her 
op'ra  box,  she  begins  to  sour  on  the  merry-merry  life, 
scratches  half  the  entries  on  her  visitin'  list,  and  joins 
old  lady  societies  that  meet  once  a  month  in  the  after- 
noon. 

"  Of  course,"  says  Purdy,  "  I  had  no  objection  to  all 
that.  It  was  natural.  Only  after  she  began  to  bring 
Anastasia  around,  and  hint  very  plainly  what  she  ex- 
pected me  to  do,  I  began  to  get  desperate." 

"  Stashy  wa'n't  exactly  your  idea  of  a  pippin,  eh  ?  " 
says  I. 

That  was  what.  Accordin'  to  Purdy's  shorthand 
notes,  Stashy  was  one  of  these  square  chinned  females 
that  ought  to  be  doin'  a  weight  liftin'  act  with  some 
tent  show.  But  she  wa'n't.  She  had  too  much  out  at 
int'rest  for  that,  and  as  she  didn't  go  in  for  the  light 
and  frivolous  she  has  to  have  something  to  keep  her 
busy.  So  she  starts  out  as  a  lady  preventer.  Gettin' 
up  societies  to  prevent  things  was  her  fad.  She 
splurges  on  'em,  from  the  kind  that  wants  to  put  muf- 
flers on  steamboat  whistles,  to  them  that  would  like 
to  button  leggins  on  the  statues  of  G.  Wash.  For  all 
that,  though,  she  thinks  it's  her  duty  to  marry  some 

200 


GIVING   BOMBAZOULA   THE    HOOK 

man  and  train  him,  and  between  her  and  Aunt  Isabella 
they'd  picked  out  Purdy  for  the  victim. 

"  While  you'd  gone  and  tagged  some  pink  and  white, 
mink  lined  Daisy  May  ?  "  says  I. 

"  I  hadn't  thought  about  getting  married  at  all," 
says  Purdy. 

"  Then  you  might's  well  quit  squirmin',"  says  I. 
"  If  you've  got  two  of  that  kind  plannin'  out  your 
future,  there  ain't  any  hope." 

Then  we  gets  down  to  Valentine,  the  half  brother 
that  has  been  cut  loose.  Just  as  Purdy  has  given  it 
to  aunty  straight  that  he'd  rather  drop  out  of  two 
clubs  and  have  his  allowance  cut  in  half,  than  tie  up  to 
any  such  tailor  made  article  as  Anastasia,  and  right  in 
the  middle  of  Aunt  Isabella's  gettin'  purple  faced  and 
puffy  eyed  over  it,  along  comes  a  lengthy  letter  from 
Valentine. 

It  ain't  any  hard  luck  wheeze,  either.  He's  no 
hungry  prod.,  Vally  ain't.  He's  been  doin'  some 
tall  climbin',  all  these  years  that  Purdy 's  been  col- 
lectin'  pearl  stick  pins  and  gold  cigarette  cases, 
and  changin'  his  clothes  four  times  a  day.  Vally  has 
jumped  from  one  job  to  another,  played  things  clear 
across  the  board  and  the  ends  against  the  middle, 
chased  the  pay  envelope  almost  off  the  edge  of  the 
map,  and  finished  somewhere  on  the  east  coast  of 
Africa,  where  he  bosses  a  couple  of  hundred  coloured 

20 1 


SAINT  ANTHONY'S  SEMINARY 
SANTA  BARBARA,  CALIF. 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

gentlemen  in  the  original  package,  and  makes  easy 
money  by  bein'  agent  for  a  big  firm  of  London  iv'ry 
importers.  He'd  been  makin'  a  trip  to  headquarters 
with  a  cargo,  and  was  on  his  way  back  to  the  iv'ry 
fields,  when  the  notion  struck  him  to  stop  off  in  New 
York  and  say  howdy  to  Aunt  Isabella  and  Brother 
Purd. 

"  And  she  hasn't  talked  about  anything  but  Valen- 
tine since,"  says  Purdy. 

"  It's  Vally's  turn  to  be  it;  eh?  "  says  I. 

"  You'd  think  so  if  you  could  hear  them,"  says  he. 
"  Anastasia  is  just  as  enthusiastic." 

"  You  ain't  gettin'  jealous,  are  you?  "  says  I. 

Purdy  unreefs  the  sickliest  kind  of  a  grin  you 
ever  saw.  "  I  was  as  pleased  as  anyone,"  says  he, 
"  until  I  found  out  the  whole  of  Aunt  Isabella's 
plan." 

And  say,  it  was  a  grand  right  and  left  that  she'd 
framed  up.  Matin'  Stashy  up  with  Valentine  instead 
of  Purdy  was  only  part.  Her  idea  was  to  induce 
Vally  to  settle  down  with  her,  and  ship  Purdy  off  to 
look  after  the  iv'ry  job. 

"  Only  fancy !  "  says  Purdy.  "  It's  a  place  called 
Bombazoula!  Why,  you  can't  even  find  it  on  the 
chart.  I'd  die  if  I  had  to  live  in  such  a  dreadful 
place." 

"  Is  it  too  late  to  get  busy  and  hand  out  the  hot  air 

202 


GIVING   BOMBAZOULA   THE    HOOK 

to  Stashy  ?  "  says  I.  "  Looks  to  me  like  it  was  either 
'you  for  her,  or  Bombazoula  for  you." 

"  Don't !  "  says  Purdy,  and  he  shivers  like  I'd  slipped 
an  icicle  down  his  back.  Honest,  he  was  takin'  it  so 
hard  I  didn't  have  the  heart  to  rub  it  in. 

"  Maybe  Valentine'll  renig — who  knows  ?  "  says  I. 
"  He  may  be  so  stuck  on  Africa  that  she  can't  call 
him  off." 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Isabella  has  thought  of  that,"  says  he. 
"  She  is  so  provoked  with  me  that  she  will  do  every- 
thing to  make  him  want  to  stay;  and  if  I  remember 
Valentine,  he'll  be  willing.  Besides,  who  would  want 
to  live  in  Africa  when  they  could  stop  in  New  York? 
But  I  do  think  she  might  have  sent  some  one  else  after 
those  snakes." 

"  Oh,  yes !  "  says  I.  "  I'd  clean  forgot  about  them. 
Where  do  they  figure  in  this  ?  " 

"  Decoration,"  says  Purdy.  "  In  my  old  rooms  too !  " 

Seems  that  Stashy  and  aunty  had  been  reading  up 
on  Bombazoula,  and  they'd  got  it  down  fine.  Then 
they  turns  to  and  lays  themselves  out  to  fix  things 
up  for  Valentine  so  homelike  and  comfortable  that, 
even  if  he  was  ever  so  homesick  for  the  jungle,  like  he 
wrote  he  was,  he  wouldn't  want  to  go  any  farther. 

First  they'd  got  a  lot  of  big  rubber  trees  and  palms, 
and  filled  the  rooms  full  of  'em,  with  the  floors  covered 
with  stage  grass,  and  half  a  dozen  grey  parrots  to  let 

203 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

loose.  They'd  even  gone  so  far  as  to  try  to  hire  a 
couple  of  fake  Zulus  from  a  museum  to  come  up  and 
sing  the  moonrise  song;  so's  Vally  wouldn't  be  both- 
ered about  goin'  to  sleep  night.  The  snakes  twinin' 
around  the  rubber  trees  was  to  add  the  finishin'  touch. 
Course,  they  wanted  the  harmless  kind,  that's  had  their 
stingers  cut  out;  but  snakes  of  some  sort  they'd  just 
got  to  have,  or  else  they  knew  it  wouldn't  seem  like 
home  to  Valentine. 

"  Just  as  though  I  cared  whether  he  is  going  to 
feel  at  home  or  not !  "  says  Purdy,  real  pettish.  "  By 
Jove,  Shorty!  I've  half  a  mind  not  to  do  it.  So 
there !  " 

"  Gee !  "  says  I.  "  I  wouldn't  have  your  temper  for 
anything.  Shall  we  signal  the  driver  to  do  a  pivot 
and  head  her  north  ?  " 

"  N-n-n-o,"  says  Purdy,  reluctant. 

And  right  there  I  gets  a  seventh  son  view  of  Aunt 
Isabella  crackin'  the  checkbook  at  Purdy,  and  givin' 
him  the  cold  spine  now  and  then  by  threatenin'  to  tear 
up  the  will.  From  that  on  I  feels  different  towards 
him.  He'd  got  to  a  point  where  it  was  either  please 
Aunt  Isabella,  or  get  out  and  hustle ;  and  how  to  get 
hold  of  real  money  except  by  shovin'  pink  slips  at  the 
payin'  teller  was  part  of  his  education  that  had  been 
left  out.  He  was  up  against  it  for  fair. 
.  "  Say,  Purdy,"  says  I,  "  I  don't  want  to  interfere 
204 


GIVING   BOMBAZOULA   THE    HOOK 

in  any  family  matters;  but  since  you've  put  it  up  to 
me,  let  me  get  this  chunk  of  advice  off  my  mind: 
Long's  you've  got  to  be  nice  to  aunty  or  go  on  a 
snowball  diet,  I'd  be  nice  and  do  it  as  cheerful  as  I 
could." 

Purdy  thinks  that  over  for  a  minute  or  so.  Then 
he  raps  his  cane  on  the  rubber  mat,  straightens  up 
his  shoulders,  and  says,  "  By  Jove,  I'll  do  it !  I'll  get 
the  snakes ! " 

That  wa'n't  so  easy,  though,  as  I'd  thought.  Lefty 
White  says  he's  sorry,  but  he  runs  a  mighty  small 
stock  of  snakes  in  winter.  He's  got  a  fine  line  of 
spring  goods  on  the  way,  though,  and  if  we'll  just 
leave  our  order 

"  Ah,  say,  Lefty !  "  says  I.  "  You  give  me  shootin' 
pains.  Here  I  goes  and  cracks  up  your  joint  as  a 
first  class  snakery  and  all  you  can  show  is  a  few 
angleworms  in  bottles  and  a  prospectus  of  what  you'll 
have  next  month." 

"  Stuffed  ones  wouldn't  do,  eh  ?  "  says  he. 

"Why  not?"  says  I. 

Purdy  wa'n't  sure,  but  he  thought  he'd  take  a 
chance  on  'em;  so  we  picked  out  three  of  the  biggest 
and  spottedest  ones  in  the  shop,  and  makes  Lefty 
promise  to  get  'em  up  there  early  next  forenoon,  for 
Valentine  was  due  to  show  up  by  dinner  time  next 
night. 

205 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

On  the  way  back  we  talks  it  over  some  more,  and 
I  tries  to  chirk  Purdy  up  all  I  could ;  for  every  time  he 
thinks  of  Bombazoula  he  has  a  shiverin'  fit  that  nearly 
knocks  him  out. 

"  I  could  never  stand  it  to  go  there/'  says  he— 
never ! " 

"  Here,  here !  "  says  I.  "  That's  no  way  to  meet  a 
thing  like  this.  What  you  want  to  do  is  to  chuck  a 
bluff.  Jump  right  into  this  reception  business  with 
both  feet  and  let  on  you're  tickled  to  death  with  the 
prospect.  Aunty  won't  take  half  the  satisfaction  in 
shunting  you  off  to  the  monkey  woods  if  she  thinks 
you  want  to  go." 

Beats  all  what  a  little  encouragement  will  do  for 
some  folks.  By  the  time  Purdy  drops  me  at  the 
Studio  he's  feelin'  a  whole  lot  better,  and  is  prepared 
to  give  Vally  the  long  lost  brother  grip  when  he 
comes. 

But  I  was  sorry  for  Purdy  just  the  same.  I  could 
see  him,  over  there  at  Bombazoula,  in  a  suit  of  laven- 
der pajamas,  tryin'  to  organise  a  cotillion  with  a  lot  of 
heavy  weight  brunettes,  wearin'  brass  rings  in  their 
noses  and  not  much  else.  And  all  next  day  I  kept 
wonderin'  if  Aunt  Isabella's  scheme  was  really  goin' 
to  pan.  So,  when  Purdy  rushes  in  about  four  o'clock, 
and  wants  me  to  come  up  and  take  a  look  at  the  lay- 
out, I  was  just  about  ripe  for  goin'  to  see  the  show. 

206 


GIVING    BOMBAZOULA   THE    HOOK 

"  But  I  hope  we  can  shy  aunty,"  says  I.  "  Some- 
times I  get  along  with  these  old  battle  axes  first  rate, 
and  then  again  I  don't;  and  what  little  reputation  you 
got  left  at  home  I  don't  want  to  queer." 

"Oh,  that  will  be  all  right,"  says  Purdy.  "She 
has  heard  of  you  from  Pinckney,  and  she  knows  about 
how  you  helped  me  to  get  the  snakes." 

"Did  they  fit  in?"  says  I. 

"  Come  up  and  see,"  says  Purdy. 

And  it  was  worth  the  trip,  just  to  get  a  view  of 
them  rooms.  Nobody  but  a  batty  old  woman  would 
have  ever  thought  up  so  many  jungle  stunts  for  the 
second  floor  of  a  brownstone  front. 

"  There ! "  says  Purdy.  "  Isn't  that  tropical 
enough  ?  " 

I  took  a  long  look.  "  Well,"  says  I,  "  I've  never 
been  farther  south  than  Old  Point,  but  I've  seen 
such  things  pictured  out  before  now,  and  if  I'm  any 
judge,  this  throws  up  a  section  of  the  cannibal  belt  to 
the  life." 

It  did  too.  They  had  the  dark  shades  pulled  down, 
and  the  light  was  kind  of  dim ;  but  you  could  see  that 
the  place  was  chock  full  of  ferns  and  palms  and  such. 
The  parrots  was  hoppin'  around,  and  you  could  hear 
water  runnin'  somewheres,  and  they'd  trained  them 
spotted  snakes  around  the  rubber  trees  just  as  natural 
as  if  they'd  crawled  up  there  by  themselves. 

207 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

While  we  was  lookirr  Aunt  Isabella  comes  puffin' 
up  the  stairs. 

"Isn't  it  just  charming,  Mr.  McCabe?"  says  she, 
holdin'  a  hand  up  behind  one  ear.  "  I  can  hardly 
wait  for  dear  Valentine  to  come,  I'm  so  anxious  to 
see  how  pleased  he'll  be.  He  just  dotes  on  jungle 
life.  The  dear  boy !  You  must  come  up  and  take 
tea  with  him  some  afternoon.  He's  a  very  shy,  diffi- 
dent little  chap ;  but " 

At  that  the  door  bell  starts  ringin'  like  the  house 
was  afire,  and  bang!  bang!  goes  someone's  fist  on 
the  outside  panel.  Course,  we  all  chases  down  stairs 
to  see  what's  broke  loose;  but  before  we  gets  to  the 
front  hall  the  butler  has  the  door  open,  and  in  pushes 
a  husky,  red  whiskered  party,  wearin'  a  cloth  cap,  a 
belted  ulster  with  four  checks  to  the  square  yard,  and 
carry  in'  an  extension  leather  bag  about  the  size  of  a 
small  trunk,  with  labels  pasted  all  over  it. 

"  It's  a  blawsted  shyme,  that's  w'at  it  is ! "  says  he 
— "me  p'yin'  'alf  a  bob  for  a  two  shillin'  drive.  These 
cabbies  of  yours  is  a  set  of  bloomink  'iw'ymen !  " 

"What  name,  sir?"  says  the  butler. 

"  Nime !  "  roars  the  whiskered  gent.  "  I'm  Valen- 
tine, that's  who  I  am !  Tyke  the  luggage,  you  shiver- 
in'  pie  face ! " 

"  Oh,  Valentine ! "  squeals  Aunt  Isabella,  makin'  a 
rush  at  him  with  her  arms  out, 

208 


GIVING   BOMBAZOULA   THE    HOOK 

"  Sheer  off,  aunty !  "  says  he.  "  Cut  out  the  bally 
tommyrot  and  let  me  'ave  a  wash.  And  sye,  send 
some  beggar  for  the  brandy  and  soda.  Where's  me 
rooms  ?  " 

"  I'll  show  you  up,  Valentine,"  chips  in  Purdy. 

"  'Ello!  'O's  the  little  man?  "  says  Vally.  "  Blow 
me  if  it  ain't  Purdy !  Trot  along  up,  Purdy  lad,  and 
show  me  the  digs." 

Say,  he  was  a  bird,  Vally  was.  He  talks  like 
a  Cockney,  acts  like  a  bounder,  and  looks  'em 
both. 

Aunt  Isabella  has  dropped  on  the  hall  seat,  gaspin' 
for  breath,  the  butler  is  leanin'  against  the  wall  with 
his  mouth  open;  so  I  grabs  the  bag  and  starts  up 
after  the  half  brothers.  Just  by  the  peachblow  tint 
of  Vally 's  nose  I  got  the  idea  that  maybe  the  most 
entertainin'  part  of  this  whole  program  was  billed  to 
take  place  on  the  second  floor. 

"  Here  you  are,"  says  Purdy,  swingin'  open  the 
door  and  shovin'  him  in.  "  Aunt  Isabella  has  fixed 
things  up  homelike  for  you,  you  see." 

"  And  here's  your  trunk,"  says  I.  "  Make  your- 
self to  home,"  and  I  shuts  him  in  to  enjoy  himself. 

It  took  Valentine  just  about  twenty  seconds  to  size 
up  the  interior  decorations ;  for  Purdy'd  turned  on 
the  incandescents  so's  to  give  him  a  good  view,  and 
that  had  stirred  up  the  parrots  some.  What  I  was 

209 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

waitin'  for  was  for  him  to  discover  the  spotted  snakes. 
I  didn'  t  think  he  could  miss  'em,  for  they  was 
mighty  prominent.  Nor  he  didn't.  It  wasn't  only  us 
heard  it,  but  everyone  else  on  the  block. 

"Wow!"  says  he.  "'Elp!  'Elp!  Lemme  out! 
I'm  bein'  killed!" 

That  was  Valentine,  bellerin'  enough  to  take  the 
roof  off,  and  clawin'  around  for  the  doorknob  on  the 
inside.  He  comes  out  as  if  he'd  been  shot  through  a 
chute,  his  eyes  stickin'  out  like  a  couple  of  peeled 
onions,  an  a  grey  parrot  hangin'  to  one  ear. 

"  What's  the  trouble  ?  "  says  Purdy. 

"  Br-r-r ! "  says  Valentine,  like  a  clogged  steam 
whistle.  "  Where's  the  nearest  'orspital  ?  I'm  a  sick 
man !  Br-r-r-r !  " 

With  that  he  starts  down  the  stairs,  takin'  three  at 
a  time,  bolts  through  the  front  door,  and  makes  a 
dash  down  the  street,  yellin'  like  a  kid  when  a  fire 
breaks  out. 

Purdy  and  me  didn't  have  any  time  to  watch  how 
far  he  went,  for  Aunt  Isabella  had  keeled  over  on  the 
rug,  the  maid  was  havin'  a  fit  in  the  parlour,  and  the 
butler  was  fannin'  himself  with  the  card  tray.  We 
had  to  use  up  all  the  alcohol  and  smellin'  salts  in  the 
house  before  we  could  bring  the  bunch  around.  When 
aunty's  so  she  can  hold  her  head  up  and  open  her  eyes, 
she  looks  about  cautious,  and  whispers: 

2IO 


GIVING    BOMBAZOULA   THE    HOOK 

"  Has — has  he  gone,  Purdy,  dear  ?  " 

Purdy  says  he  has. 

"  Then,"  she  says  to  me,  "  bolt  that  door,  and  never 
mention  his  name  to  me  again." 

Everything's  lovely  now.  Purdy's  back  to  the 
downy,  and  Bombazoula's  wiped  off  the  map  for  good. 

And  say!  If  you're  lookin'  for  a  set  of  jungle 
scenery  and  stuffed  snakes,  I  know  where  you  can  get 
a  job  lot  for  the  askin'. 


21  r 


XIV 
A    HUNCH    FOR    LANGDON 

SAY,  the  longer  I  knocks  around  and  the  more  kinds 
I  rheet,  the  slower  I  am  about  sizin'  folks  up  on  a  first 
view.  I  used  to  think  there  was  only  two  classes, 
them  that  was  my  kind  and  them  that  wa'n't ;  but  I've 
got  over  that.  I  don't  try  to  grade  'em  up  any  more ; 
for  they're  built  on  so  many  different  plans  it  would 
take  a  card  index  the  size  of  a  flat  buildin'  to  keep  'em 
all  on  file.  All  I  can  make  out  is  that  there's  some 
good  points  about  the  worst  of  'em,  and  some  of  the 
best  has  their  streak  of  yellow. 

Anyway,  I'm  glad  I  ain't  called  on  to  write  a  tag 
for  Langdon.  First  news  I  had  of  him  was  what  I 
took  for  inside  information,  bein'  as  it  was  handed  me 
by  his  maw.  When  I  gets  the  note  askin'  me  to  call  up 
in  the  7o's  between  five  and  six  I  don't  know  whether 
it's  a  bid  to  a  tea  fest  or  a  bait  for  an  auction.  The 
stationery  was  real  swell,  though,  and  the  writin'  was 
this  up  and  down  kind  that  goes  with  the  gilt  crest. 
What  I  could  puzzle  out  of  the  name,  though,  wa'n't 
familiar.  But  I  follows  up  the  invite  and  takes  a 
chance. 

212 


A   HUNCH   FOR  LANGDON 

So  about  five-thirty  I'm  standin'  outside  the  glass 
doors  pushin'  the  bell.  A  butler  with  boiled  egg  eyes 
looks  me  over  real  frosty  from  behind  the  lace  cur- 
taius;  but  the  minute  I  says  I'm  Shorty  McCabe  he 
takes  off  the  tramp  chain  and  says,  "  Yes,  sir.  This 
way,  sir."  I'm  towed  in  over  the  Persian  hall  runner 
to  the  back  parlour,  where  there's  a  lady  and  gent 
sittin'  on  opposite  sides  of  the  coal  grate,  with  a  tea 
tray  between  'em. 

"  I'll  be  drinkin'  that  stuff  yet,  if  I  ain't  careful," 
thinks  I. 

But  I  didn't  even  have  to  duck.  The  lady  was  so 
anxious  to  get  to  talkin'  that  she  forgot  to  shove  the 
cups  at  me,  and  the  gent  didn't  act  like  it  was  his  say. 
It  was  hard  to  tell,  the  way  she  has  the  lights  fixed, 
whether  she  was  twenty-five  or  fifty.  Anyway,  she 
hadn't  got  past  the  kittenish  stage.  Some  of  'em  never 
does.  She  don't  overdo  the  thing,  but  just  gushes 
natural ;  usin'  her  eyes,  and  eyebrows,  and  the  end  of 
her  nose,  and  the  tip  of  her  chin  when  she  spoke,  as 
well  as  throwin'  in  a  few  shoulder  lifts  once  in  awhile. 

"  It's  so  good  of  you  to  come  up,  professor !  "  says 
she.  "Isn't  it,  Pembroke?" 

Pembroke — he's  the  gent  on  the  other  side  of  the 
tray — starts  to  say  that  it  was,  but  she  don't  give  him  a 
chance.  She  blazes  right  ahead,  tellin'  how  she's  heard 
of  me  and  my  Studio  through  friends,  and  the  minute 

213 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

she  hears  of  it,  she  knows  that  nothing  would  suit 
Langdon  better.  "  Langdon's  my  son,  you  know," 
says  she. 

"Honest?  "says  I. 

"  Te-he !  "  says  she.  "  How  sweet  of  you !  Hardly 
anyone  believes  it  at  first,  though.  But  he's  a  dear 
boy ;  isn't  he,  Pembroke  ?  " 

This  was  Pembroke's  cue  for  fair.  It's  up  to  him 
to  do  the  boost  act.  But  all  he  produces  is  a  double 
barrelled  blink  from  behind  the  glasses.  He's  one  of 
these  chubby  chaps,  Pembroke  is,  especially  around  the 
belt.  He  has  pink  cheeks,  and  a  nice  white  forehead 
that  almost  meets  the  back  of  his  collar.  But  he  knows 
when  to  let  things  slide  with  a  blink. 

"  I  guess  some  one's  been  givin'  you  the  wrong 
steer,"  says  I.  "  I  ain't  started  any  kindergarten  class 
yet.  The  Y.  M.  C.  A.  does  that  sort  of " 

"  Oh,  dear !  but  Langdon  isn't  a  child,  you  know," 
says  the  lady.  "  He's  a  great  big  fellow,  almost 
twenty-two.  Yes,  really.  And  I  know  you'll  get  to 
be  awfully  fond  of  him.  Won't  he,  Pembroke?" 

"  We-e-e-ell "  says  Pembroke. 

"  Oh,  he's  bound  to,"  says  she.  "  Of  course,  Lang- 
don doesn't  always  make  friends  easily.  He  is  so  apt 
to  be  misunderstood.  Why,  they  treated  him  perfectly 
horrid  at  prep,  school,  and  even  worse  at  college.  A 
lot  of  the  fellows,  and,  actually,  some  of  the  profes- 

214 


A   HUNCH   FOR  LANGDON 

sors,  were  so  rude  to  him  that  Langdon  said  he  just 
wouldn't  stay  another  day !  I  told  him  I  didn't  blame 
him  a  bit.  So  he  came  home.  But  it's  awfully  dull 
for  a  young  man  like  Langdon  here  in  New  York,  you 
know." 

"  Crippled,  or  blind  or  something,  is  he  ?  "  says  I. 

"  Who,  Langdon  ?  Why,  he's  perfect — absolutely 
perfect !  "  says  she. 

"  Oh,  that  accounts  for  it,"  says  I,  and  Pembroke 
went  through  some  motions  with  his  cheeks  like  he 
was  tryin'  to  blow  soap  bubbles  up  in  the  air. 

Well,  it  seems  that  mother  has  been  worryin'  a  lot 
over  keepin'  Langdon  amused.  Think  of  it,  in  a  town 
like  this ! 

"  He  detests  business,"  says  she,  "  and  he  doesn't 
care  for  theatres,  or  going  to  clubs,  or  reading,  or 
society.  But  his  poor  dear  father  didn't  care  for  any 
of  those  things  either,  except  business.  And  Langdon 
hasn't  any  head  for  that.  All  he  takes  an  interest  in 
is  his  machine." 

"  Singer  or  Remington  ?  "  says  I. 

"  Why,  his  auto,  of  course.  He's  perfectly  devoted 
to  that,"  says  she ;  "  but  the  police  are  so  dreadfully 
particular.  Oh,  they  make  such  lots  of  trouble  for 
Langdon,  and  get  him  into  such  stupid  scrapes.  Don't 
they,  Pembroke  ?  " 

Pembroke  didn't  blink  at  that.     He  nods  twice. 
215 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

"  It  just  keeps  me  worried  all  the  time,"  she  goes 
on.  "  It  isn't  that  I  mind  paying  the  absurd  fines, 
of  course;  but — well,  you  can  understand.  No  one 
knows  what  those  horrid  officers  will  do  next,  they're 
so  unreasonable.  Just  think,  that  is  the  poor  boy's 
only  pleasure!  So  I  thought  that  if  we  could  only 
get  Langdon  interested  in  something  of  an  athletic 
nature — he's  a  splendid  boxer,  you  know — oh, 
splendid ! " 

"  That's  different,"  says  I.  "  You  might  send  him 
down  a  few  times  and " 

"  Oh,  but  I  want  you  to  meet  him  first,"  says  she, 
"  and  arouse  his  enthusiasm.  He  would  never  go  if 
you  didn't.  I  expect  he  will  be  in  soon,  and  then — • 
Why,  that  must  be  Langdon  now !  " 

It  might  have  been  an  axe  brigade  from  the  dis- 
trict attorney's  office,  or  a  hook  and  ladder  company, 
by  the  sound.  I  didn't  know  whether  he  was  comin' 
through  the  doors  or  bringin'  'em  in  with  him.  As 
I  squints  around  I  sees  the  egg  eyed  butler  get  should- 
ered into  the  hall  rack ;  so  I  judges  that  Langdon  must 
be  in  something  of  a  hurry. 

He  gets  over  it,  though,  for  he  stamps  into  the  middle 
of  the  room,  plants  his  feet  wide  apart,  throws  his 
leather  cap  with  the  goggles  on  into  a  chair,  and  chucks 
one  of  them  greasy  bootleg  gloves  into  the  middle  of 
the  tea  tray. 

216 


A   HUNCH   FOR  LANGDON 

"Hello,  maw!"  he  growls.  "Hello,  Fatty!  You 
here  again  ?  " 

Playful  little  cuss,  Langdon  was.  He's  about  five 
feet  nine,  short  necked^  and  broad  across  the  chest. 
But  he's  got  a  nice  face — for  a  masked  ball — eyes  the 
colour  of  purple  writin'  ink,  hair  of  a  lovely  ripe  tomato 
shade  growin'  down  to  a  peak  in  front  and  standin' 
up  stiff  and  bristly;  a  corrugated  brow,  like  a  wash- 
board ;  and  an  undershot  jaw,  same's  a  bull  terrier.  Oh, 
yes,  he  was  a  dear  boy,  all  right.  In  his  leggin's  and 
leather  coat  he  looks  too  cute  for  any  use. 

"  Who's  this  ?  "  says  he,  gettin'  sight  of  me  sittin' 
sideways  on  the  stuffed  chair. 

"  Why,  Langdon  dear,"  says  maw,  "  this  is  Pro- 
fessor McCabe.  I  was  speaking  to  you  of  him,  you 
know." 

He  looks  me  over  as  friendly  as  if  I  was  some  yegg 
man  that  had  been  hauled  out  of  the  coal  cellar. 
"  Huh !  "  says  he.  I've  heard  freight  engines  coughin' 
up  a  grade  make  a  noise  a  good  deal  like  that. 

Say,  as  a  rule  I  ain't  anxious  to  take  on  new  people, 
and  it's  gettin'  so  lately  that  we  turn  away  two  or  three 
a  week;  but  it  didn't  take  me  long  to  make  up  my 
mind  that  I  could  find  time  for  a  session  with  Lang- 
don, if  he  wanted  it. 

"  Your  maw  says  you  do  a  little  boxin'  ?  "  says  I, 
smooth  and  soothin'. 

217 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

"What  of  it?"  says  he. 

"  Well,"  says  I,  "  down  to  my  Studio  we  juggle  the 
kid  pillows  once  in  awhile  ourselves,  when  we  ain't 
doin'  the  wand  drill,  or  play  in'  bean  bag." 

"  Huh !  "  says  he  once  more. 

For  a  parlour  conversationalist,  Langdon  was  a 
frost,  and  he  has  manners  that  would  turn  a  subway 
guard  green.  But  maw  jumps  in  with  enough  but- 
tered talk  for  both,  and  pretty  soon  she  tells  me  that 
Langdon's  perfectly  delighted  and  will  be  down  next 
day. 

"  Me  and  Mr.  Gallagher'll  be  on  the  spot,"  says  I. 
"  Good  evenin',  ma'am." 

At  that  Pembroke  jumps  up,  makes  a  quick  break 
away,  and  trails  along  too,  so  we  does  a  promenade 
together  down  West  End-ave. 

"Charming  young  fellow,  eh?"  says  Pembroke. 

"  Sure !  "  says  I.     "  But  he  hides  it  well." 

"  You  think  Langdon  needs  exercise  ? "  says 
he. 

"  Never  saw  anyone  that  needed  it  much  worse," 
says  I. 

"  Just  my  notion,"  says  he.  "  In  fact  I  am  so  in- 
terested in  seeing  that  Langdon  gets  it  that  I  am  quite 
willing  to  pay  something  extra  for " 

"  You  don't  have  to,"  says  I.  "  I'm  almost  willin' 
to  do  the  payin'  myself." 

218 


A   HUNCH   FOR  LANGDON 

That  pleases  Pembroke  so  much  he  has  to  stop  right 
in  his  tracks  and  shake  hands.  Funny,  ain't  it,  how 
you  can  get  to  be  such  good  friends  with  anyone  so 
sudden?  We  walks  thirty  blocks,  chinnin'  like 
brothers,  and  when  we  stops  on  the  corner  of  426.  I've 
got  the  whole  story  of  maw  and  Langdon,  with  some 
of  Pembroke's  hist'ry  thrown  in. 

It  was  just  a  plain  case  of  mother  bein'  used  as  a 
doormat  by  her  dear,  darling  boy.  She  was  more 
or  less  broke  in  to  it,  for  it  seems  that  the  late  de- 
parted had  been  a  good  deal  of  a  rough  houser  in  his 
day,  havin'  been  about  as  gentle  in  his  ways  as  a 
'Leventh-ave.  bartender  entertainin'  the  Gas  House 
Gang.  He  hadn't  much  more'n  quit  the  game,  though, 
before  Langdon  got  big  enough  to  carry  out  the  pro- 
gram, and  he'd  been  at  it  ever  since. 

As  near  as  I  could  figure,  Pembroke  was  a  boyhood 
friend  of  maw's.  He'd  missed  his  chance  of  bein'  any- 
thing nearer,  years  ago,  but  was  still  anxious  to  try 
again.  But  it  didn't  look  like  there'd  be  any  weddin' 
bells  for  him  until  Langdon  either  got  his  neck  broke 
or  was  put  away  for  life.  Pemby  wa'n't  soured, 
though.  He  talked  real  nice  about  it.  He  said  he 
could  see  how  much  maw  thought  of  Langdon,  and 
it  showed  what  good  stuff  she  was  made  of,  her  stick- 
in'  to  the  boy  until  he'd  settled  on  something,  or  some- 
thing had  settled  on  him.  Course,  he  thought  it  was 

219 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

about  time  she  had  a  let  up  and  was  treated  white  for 
awhile. 

Accordin'  to  the  hints  he  dropped,  I  suspicions  that 
Pembroke  would  have  ranked  her  A-i  in  the  queen 
class,  and  I  gathers  that  the  size  of  her  bank  account 
don't  cut  any  ice  in  this  deal,  him  havin'  more  or  less 
of  a  surplus  himself.  I  guess  he'd  been  a  patient 
waiter;  but  he'd  set  his  hopes  hard  on  engagin'  the 
bridal  state  room  for  a  spring  trip  to  Europe. 

It  all  comes  back,  though,  to  what  could  be  done 
with  Langdon,  and  that  was  where  the  form  sheet 
wa'n't  any  help.  There's  a  million  or  so  left  in  trust 
for  him;  but  he  don't  get  it  until  he's  twenty-five. 
Meantime,  it  was  a  question  of  how  you're  goin'  to 
handle  a  youngster  that's  inherited  the  instincts  of  a 
truck  driver  and  the  income  of  a  bank  president. 

"  It's  a  pity,  too,"  says  Pembroke.  "  He  hasn't  any 
vicious  habits,  he's  rather  bright,  and  if  he  could  be 
started  right  he  would  make  quite  a  man,  even  now. 
He  needs  to  be  caged  up  somewhere  long  enough  to 
have  some  of  the  bully  knocked  out  of  him.  I'm 
hoping  you  can  do  a  little  along  that  line." 

"  Too  big  a  contract,"  says  I.  "  All  I  want  is  to 
make  his  ears  buzz  a  little,  just  as  a  comeback  for  a 
few  of  them  grunts  he  chucked  at  me." 

And  who  do  you  suppose  showed  up  at  the  Studio 
next  forenoon?  Him  and  maw;  she  smilin'  all  over 

220 


A   HUNCH    FOR  LANGDON 

and  tickled  to  death  to  think  she'd  got  him  there; 
Langdon  actin'  like  a  bear  with  a  sore  ear. 

"  Maybe  you  hadn't  better  wait,"  says  I  to  her. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  says  she.  "  I  am  going  to  stay  and 
watch  dear  Langdon  box,  you  know." 

Well,  unless  I  ruled  her  out  flat,  there  was  no  way 
of  changin'  her  mind;  so  I  had  to  let  her  stay.  And 
she  saw  Langdon  box.  Oh,  yes !  For  an  amateur,  he 
puts  up  a  fairly  good  exhibition,  and  as  I  didn't  have 
the  heart  to  throw  the  hook  into  him  with  her  sittin" 
there  lookin'  so  cheerful,  about  all  I  does  is  step 
around  and  block  his  swings  and  jabs.  And  say,  with 
him  carryin'  his  guard  high,  and  leavin'  the  way  to 
his  meat  safe  open  half  the  time,  it  was  all  I  could  do 
to  hold  myself  back. 

The  only  fun  I  gets  is  watchin'  Swifty  Joe's  face 
out  of  the  corner  of  my  eye.  He  was  pipin'  us  off 
from  the  start.  First  his  mouth  comes  open  a  foot 
or  so  as  he  sees  me  let  a  chance  slide,  and  when  I 
misses  more  openin's  he  takes  on  a  look  like  some  one 
had  fed  him  a  ripe  egg. 

Langdon  is  havin'  the  time  of  his  life.  He  can  hit 
as  hard  as  he  likes,  and  he  don't  get  hit  back.  Must 
have  seemed  real  homelike  to  him.  Anyway,  soon's 
he  dopes  it  out  that  there  ain't  any  danger  at  all,  he 
bores  in  like  a  snow  plough,  and  between  blockin'  and 
duckin'  I  has  my  hands  full. 

221 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

Just  how  Langdon  has  it  sized  up  I  couldn't  make 
out;  but  like  as  not  I  made  somethin'  of  a  hit  with 
him.  I  put  it  down  that  way  when  he  shows  up  one 
afternoon  with  his  bubble,  and  offers  to  take  me  for  a 
spin.  It  was  so  unexpected  to  find  him  tryin'  to  do 
somethin'  agreeable  that  I  don't  feel  like  I  ought  to 
throw  him  down.  So  I  pulls  on  a  sweater  and  climbs 
in  next  to  the  steerin'  wheel. 

There  wa'n't  anything  fancy  about  Langdon's  oil 
waggon.  He'd  had  the  tonneau  stripped  off,  and  left 
just  the  front  seat — no  varnished  wood,  only  a  coat  of 
primin'  paint  and  a  layer  of  mud  splashed  over  that. 
But  we  hadn't  gone  a  dozen  blocks  before  I  am  wise 
to  the  fact  that  nothin'  was  the  matter  with  the  cog 
wheels  underneath. 

"  Kind  of  a  high  powered  cart,  ain't  it?  "  says  I. 

"  Only  ninety  horse,"  says  Langdon,  jerkin'  us 
around  a  Broadway  car  so  fast  that  we  grazed  both 
ends  at  once. 

"  You  needn't  hit  'er  up  on  my  account,"  says  I, 
as  we  scoots  across  the  Plaza,  makin'  a  cab  horse  stand 
on  his  hind  legs  to  give  us  room. 

"  I'm  only  on  the  second  speed,"  says  he.  "  Wait," 
and  he  does  some  monkeyin'  with  the  lever. 

Maybe  it  was  Central  Park;  but  it  seemed  to  me 
like  bein'  shot  through  a  Christmas  wreath,  and  the 
next  thing  I  knows  we're  tearin'  up  Amsterdam-ave. 

222 


A   HUNCH   FOR   LANGDON 

Say,  I  can  see  'em  yet,  them  folks  and  waggons  and 
things  we  missed — women  holdin'  kids  by  the  hand, 
old  ladies  steppin'  out  of  cars,  little  girls  runnin'  across 
the  street  with  their  arms  full  of  bundles,  white  wings 
with  their  dust  cans,  and  boys  with  delivery  carts. 
Sometimes  I'd  just  shut  my  eyes  and  listen  for  the 
squashy  sound,  and  when  it  didn't  come  I'd  open  'em 
and  figure  on  what  would  happen  if  I  should  reach  out 
and  get  Langdon's  neck  in  the  crook  of  my  arm. 

And  it  wa'n't  my  first  fast  ride  in  town,  either.  But 
I'd  never  been  behind  the  lamps  when  a  two-ton  ma- 
chine was  bein'  sent  at  a  fifty-mile  clip  up  a  street 
crowded  with  folks  that  had  almost  as  much  right  to 
be  livin'  as  we  did. 

It  was  a  game  that  suited  Langdon  all  right,  though. 
He's  squattin'  behind  the  wheel  bareheaded,  with  his 
ketchup  tinted  hair  plastered  back  by  the  wind,  them 
purple  eyes  shut  to  a  squint,  his  under  jaw  stuck  out, 
and  a  kind  of  half  grin — if  you  could  call  it  that — 
flickerin'  on  and  off  his  thick  lips.  I  don't  wonder 
men  shook  their  fists  at  us  and  women  turned  white 
and  sick  as  we  cleared  'em  by  the  thickness  of  a  sheet 
of  paper.  I  expect  we  left  a  string  of  cuss  words 
three  blocks  long. 

I  don't  know  how  far  we  went,  or  where.  It  was 
all  a  nightmare  to  me,  just  a  string  of  gasps  and 
visions  of  what  would  be  in  the  papers  next  day,  after 

223 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

the  coroner's  jury  got  busy.  But  somehow  we  got 
through  without  any  red  on  the  tires,  and  pulls  up  in 
front  of  the  Studio.  I  didn't  jump  out  in  a  hurry,  like 
I  wanted  to.  I  needed  a  minute  to  think,  for  it  seemed 
to  me  something  was  due  some  one. 

"  Nice  little  plaything  you've  got  here,"  says  I. 
"  And  that  was  a  great  ride.  But  sittin'  still  so  long 
has  kind  of  cramped  my  legs.  Don't  feel  like  limber- 
in'  up  a  bit  with  the  mitts,  do  you  ?  " 

"  I'd  just  as  soon,"  says  Langdon. 

I  was  tryin'  not  to  look  the  way  I  felt;  but  when 
we'd  sent  Swifty  down  to  sit  in  the  machine,  and  I'd 
got  Langdon  peeled  off  and  standin'  on  the  mat,  with 
the  spring  lock  snapped  between  him  and  the  outside 
door,  it  seemed  too  good  to  be  true.  I'd  picked  out 
an  old  set  of  gloves  that  had  the  hair  worked  away 
from  the  knuckles  some,  for  I  wa'n't  plannin'  on  any 
push  ball  picnic  this  time. 

Just  to  stir  his  fightin'  blood,  and  partly  so  I  could 
be  sure  I  had  a  good  grip  on  my  own  temper,  I  let 
him  get  in  a  few  facers  on  me.  Then  I  opens  up  with 
the  side  remarks  I'd  been  thinkin'  over. 

"  Say,  Langy,"  says  I,  sidesteppin'  one  of  his  swings 
for  my  jaw,  "  s'posin'  you'd  hit  some  of  them  people, 
eh  ?  S'posin'  that  car  of  yours  had  caught  one  of  them 
old  women — biff! — like  that?"  and  I  lets  go  a  jolt 
that  fetches  him  on  the  cheek  bone. 

224 


A   HUNCH   FOR  LANGDON 

"  Ugh ! "  says  Langdon,  real  surprised.  But  he 
shakes  his  head  and  comes  back  at  me. 

"  Ever  stop  to  think,"  says  I,  "  how  one  of  them 
kids  would  look  after  you'd  got  him — so  ? "  and  I 
shoots  the  left  into  that  bull  neck  of  his. 

"  S-s-s-say !  "  sputters  Langdon.  "  What  do  you 
think  you're  doing,  anyway  ?  " 

"  Me  ?  "  says  I.  "  I'm  tryin'  to  get  a  few  points 
on  the  bubble  business.  Is  it  more  fun  to  smash  'em 
in  the  ribs — bang! — like  that?  Or  to  slug  'em  in  the 
head — biff ! — so  ?  That's  right,  son ;  come  in  for  more. 
It's  waitin'.  There!  Jarred  your  nut  a  bit,  that  one 
did,  eh?  Yes,  here's  the  mate  to  it.  There's  plenty 
more  on  tap.  Oh,  never  mind  the  nose  claret.  It'll 
wipe  off.  Keep  your  guard  up.  Careful,  now! 
You're  swingin'  wide.  And,  as  I  was  sayin' — there, 
you  ran  into  that  one — this  bubble  scorchin'  must  be 
great  sport.  When  you  don't — biff! — get  'em — biff! 
you  can  scare  'em  to  death,  eh  ?  Wabbly  on  your  feet, 
are  you?  That's  the  stuff!  Keep  it  up.  That  eye's 
all  right.  One's  all  you  need  to  see  with.  Gosh! 
Now  you've  got  a  pair  of  'em." 

If  it  hadn't  been  for  his  comin'  in  so  ugly  and  strong 
I  never  could  have  done  it.  I'd  have  weakened  and 
let  up  on  him  long  before  he'd  got  half  what  was  owin'. 
But  he  was  bound  to  have  it  all,  and  there's  no  sayin' 
he  wa'n't  game  about  it.  At  the  last  I  tried  to  tell 

225 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

him  he'd  had  enough;  but  as  long  as  he  could  keep 
on  his  pins  he  kept  hopin'  to  get  in  just  one  on  me; 
so  I  finally  has  to  drop  him  with  a  stiff  one  behind  the 
ear. 

Course,  if  we'd  had  ring  gloves  on  he'd  looked  like 
he'd  been  on  the  choppin'  block;  but  with  the  pillows 
you  can't  get  hurt  bad.  Inside  of  ten  minutes  I  has 
him  all  washed  off  and  up  in  a  chair,  lookin'  not  much 
worse  than  before,  except  for  the  eye  swellin's.  And 
what  do  you  guess  is  the  first  thing  he  does  ? 

"  Say,  McCabe,"  says  he,  shovin'  out  his  paw, 
"  you're  all  right,  you  are." 

"  So?"  says  I.  "  If  I  thought  you  was  any  judge 
that  might  carry  weight." 

"  I  know,"  says  he.     "  Nobody  likes  me." 

"  Oh,  well,"  says  I,  "  I  ain't  rubbin'  it  in.  I  guess 
there's  white  spots  in  you,  after  all;  even  if  you  do 
keep  'em  covered." 

He  pricks  up  his  ears  at  that,  and  wants  to  know 
how  and  why.  Almost  before  I  knows  it  we've  drifted 
into  a  heart  to  heart  talk  that  a  half  hour  before  I 
would  have  said  couldn't  have  happened.  Langdon 
ain't  turned  cherub;  but  he's  a  whole  lot  milder,  and 
he  takes  in  what  I've  got  to  say  as  if  it  was  a  bulletin 
from  headquarters. 

"  That's  all  so,"  says  he.  "  But  I've  got  to  do  some- 
thing. Do  you  know  what  I'd  like  best  ?  " 

226 


A   HUNCH   FOR  LANGDON 

I  couldn't  guess. 

"  I'd  like  to  be  in  the  navy  and  handle  one  of  those 
big  thirteen-inch  guns,"  says  he. 

"Why  not,  then?"  says  I. 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  get  in,"  says  he.  "  I'd  go  in 
a  minute,  if  I  did." 

"  You're  as  good  as  there  now,  then,"  says  I. 
"  There's  a  recruitin'  office  around  on  Sixth-ave.,  not 
five  blocks  from  here,  and  the  Lieutenant's  somethin' 
of  a  friend  of  mine.  Is  it  a  go  ?  " 

"  It  is,"  says  Langdon. 

Hanged  if  he  didn't  mean  it  too,  and  before  he  can 
change  his  mind  we've  had  the  papers  all  made  out. 

In  the  mornin'  I  'phones  Pembroke,  and  he  comes 
around  to  lug  me  up  while  he  breaks  the  news  to  maw ; 
for  he  says  she'll  need  a  lot  of  calmin'  down.  I  was 
lookin'  for  nothin'  less  than  cat  fits,  too.  But  say,  she 
don't  even  turn  on  the  sprayer. 

"  The  navy !  "  says  she.  "  Why,  how  sweet !  Oh, 
I'm  so  glad !  Won't  Langdon  make  a  lovely  officer?  " 

I  don't  know  how  it's  goin'  to  work  out ;  but  there's 
one  sure  thing :  it'll  be  some  time  before  Langdon'll  be 
pestered  any  more  by  the  traffic  cops. 

And,  now  that  the  state  room's  engaged,  you  ought 
to  see  how  well  Pembroke  is  standin'  the  blow. 


227 


XV 
SHORTY'S    GO    WITH    ART 

WHEN  me  and  art  gets  into  the  ring  together,  you 
might  as  well  burn  the  form  sheet  and  slip  the  band 
back  on  your  bettin'  roll,  for  there's  no  tellin'  who'll 
take  the  count. 

It  was  Cornelia  Ann  that  got  me  closer  to  art  than 
I'd  ever  been  before,  or  am  like  to  get  again.  Now, 
I  didn't  hunt  her  up^  nor  she  didn't  come  gunnin'  for 
me.  It  was  a  case  of  runnin'  down  signals  and  collid- 
in'  on  the  stair  landin';  me  makin'  a  grand  rush  out 
of  the  Studio  for  a  cross  town  car,  and  she  just  get- 
tin'  her  wind  'fore  she  tackled  the  next  flight. 

Not  that  I  hit  her  so  hard;  but  it  was  enough  to 
spill  the  paper  bundles  she  has  piled  up  on  one  arm, 
and  start  'em  bouncin'  down  the  iron  steps.  First 
comes  a  loaf  of  bread;  next  a  bottle  of  pickles,  that 
goes  to  the  bad  the  third  hop;  and  exhibit  C  was 
one  of  these  ten-cent  dishes  of  baked  beans — the  pale 
kind,  that  look  like  they'd  floated  in  with  the  tide. 
Course,  that  dinky  tin  pan  they  was  in  don't  land  flat. 
It  slips  out  of  the  bag  as  slick  as  if  it  was  greased, 
stands  up  on  edge,  and  rolls  all  the  way  down,  distrib- 

228 


SHORTY'S    GO   WITH   ART 

utin'  the  mess  from  top  to  bottom,  as  even  as  if  it 
was  laid  on  with  a  brush. 

"  My  luncheon !  "  says  she,  in  a  reg'lar  me-che-e- 
ild  voice. 

"  Lunch !  "  says  I.  "  That's  what  I'd  call  a  spread. 
This  one's  on  the  house,  but  the  next  one  will  be  on 
me.  Will  to-morrow  do  ?  " 

"  Ye-es,"  says  she. 

"  Sorry,"  says  I,  "  but  I'm  runnin'  behind  sched. 
now.  What's  the  name,  miss  ?  " 

"  C.  A.  Belter,  top  floor,"  says  she ;  "  but  don't  mind 
about " 

"That'll  be  all  right,  too,"  says  I,  skippin'  down 
over  the  broken  glass  and  puntin'  the  five-cent  white 
through  the  door  for  a  goal. 

It's  little  things  like  that,  though,  that  keeps  a  man 
from  forgettin'  how  he  was  brought  up.  I'm  ready 
enough  with  some  cheap  jolly,  but  when  it  comes  to 
throwin'  in  a  "  beg  pardon  "  at  the  right  place  I'm  a 
late  comer.  I  thinks  of  'em  sometime  next  day. 

Course,  I  tries  to  get  even  by  orderin'  a  four- 
pound  steak,  with  mushroom  trimmin's,  sent  around 
from  the  hotel  on  the  corner;  but  I  couldn't  get  over 
thinkin'  how  disappointed  she  looked  when  she  saw 
that  pan  of  beans  doin'  the  pinwheel  act.  I  know  I've 
seen  the  time  when  a  plate  of  pork-and  in  my  fist 
would  have  been  worth  all  the  turkey  futures  you 

229 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

could  stack  in  a  barn,  and  maybe  it  was  that  way 
with  her. 

Anyway,  she  didn't  die  of  it,  for  a  couple  of  days 
later  she  knocks  easy  on  the  Studio  door  and  gets 
her  head  in  far  enough  to  say  how  nice  it  was  of  me 
to  send  her  that  lovely  steak. 

"  Forget  it,"  says  I. 

"  Never,"  says  she.  "  I'm  going  to  do  a  bas  relief 
of  you,  in  memory  of  it." 

"  A  barrel  which  ?  "  says  I. 

Honest,  I  wa'n't  within  a  mile  of  bein'  next.  It 
comes  out  that  she  does  sculpturing  and  wants  to  make 
a  kind  of  embossed  picture  of  me  in  plaster  of  paris, 
like  what  the  peddlers  sell  around  on  vacant  stoops. 

"  I'd  look  fine  on  a  panel,  wouldn't  I  ? "  says  I. 
"  Much  obliged,  miss,  but  sittin'  for  my  halftone  is 
where  I  draws  the  line.  I'll  lend  you  Swifty  Joe, 
though." 

She  ain't  acquainted  with  the  only  registered  assist- 
ant professor  of  physical  culture  in  the  country,  but  she 
says  if  he  don't  mind  she'll  try  her  hand  on  him  first, 
and  then  maybe  I'll  let  her  do  one  of  me.  Now,  you'd 
thought  Swifty,  with  that  before-takin'  mug  of  his, 
would  have  hid  in  the  cellar  'fore  he'd  let  anybody 
make  a  cast  of  it ;  but  when  the  proposition  is  sprung, 
he's  as  pleased  as  if  it  was  for  the  front  page  of  Fox's 
pink. 

230 


SHORTY'S    GO   WITH   ART 

That  was  what  fetched  me  up  to  that  seven  by  nine 
joint  of  hers,  next  the  roof,  to  have  a  look  at  what 
she'd  done  to  Swifty  Joe.  He  tows  me  up  there.  And 
say,  blamed  if  she  hadn't  got  him  to  the  life,  broken 
nose,  ingrowin'  forehead,  whopper  jaw,  and  all! 

"  How  about  it?  "  says  Joe,  grinnin'  at  me  as  proud 
as  if  he'd  broke  into  the  Fordham  Heights  Hall  of 
Fame. 

"  I  never  see  anything  handsomer— of  the  kind," 
says  I. 

Then  I  got  to  askin'  questions  about  the  sculpturin' 
business,  and  how  the  market  was ;  so  Miss  Belter  and 
me  gets  more  or  less  acquainted.  She  was  a  meek, 
slimpsy  little  thing,  with  big,  hungry  lookin'  eyes,  and 
a  double  hank  of  cinnamon  coloured  hair  that  I  should 
have  thought  would  have  made  her  neck  ache  to  carry 
around. 

Judgin'  by  the  outfit  in  her  ranch,  the  sculp-game 
ain't  one  that  brings  in  sable  lined  coats  and  such 
knickknacks.  There  was  a  bed  couch  in  one  corner, 
a  single  burner  gas  stove  on  an  upended  trunk  in 
another,  and  chunks  of  clay  all  over  the  place.  Light 
housekeepin'  and  art  don't  seem  to  mix  very  well. 
Maybe  they're  just  as  tasty,  but  I'd  as  soon  have  my 
eggs  cooked  in  a  fryin'  pan  that  hadn't  been  used  for 
a  mortar  bed. 

We  passed  the  time  of  day  reg'lar  after  that,  and 
231 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

now  and  then  she'd  drop  into  the  front  office  to  show 
me  some  piece  she'd  made.  I  finds  out  that  the  C.  A. 
in  her  name  stands  for  Cornelia  Ann;  so  I  drops  the 
Miss  Belter  and  calls  her  that. 

"  Father  always  calls  me  that,  too,"  says  she. 

"Yes?  "says  I. 

That  leads  up  to  the  story  of  how  the  old  folks  out 
in  Minnekeegan  have  been  backin'  her  for  a  two  years' 
stab  at  art  in  a  big  city.  Seems  it  has  been  an  awful 
drain  on  the  fam'ly  gold  reserve,  and  none  of  'em  took 
any  stock  in  such  foolishness  anyway,  but  she'd  jollied 
'em  into  lettin'  her  have  a  show  to  make  good,  and  now 
the  time  was  about  up. 

"  Well,"  says  I,  "  you  ain't  all  in,  are  you?  " 

Her  under  lip  starts  to  pucker  up  at  that,  and  them 
hungry  eyes  gets  foggy ;  but  she  takes  a  new  grip  on 
herself,  makes  a  bluff  at  grinnin',  and  says,  throaty 
like,  "  It's  no  use  pretending  any  longer,  I — I'm  a 
failure ! " 

Say,  that  makes  me  feel  like  an  ice  cream  sign  in 
a  blizzard.  I  hadn't  been  lookin'  to  dig  up  any  private 
heart  throbs  like  that.  But  there  it  was;  so  I  starts 
in  to  cheer  her  up  the  best  I  knew  how. 

"  Course,"  says  I,  "  it's  a  line  I  couldn't  shake  a 
nickel  out  of  in  a  year;  but  if  it  suited  me,  and  I 
thought  I  was  onto  my  job,  I'd  make  it  yield  the 
coin,  or  go  good  and  hungry  tryin'." 

232 


SHORTY'S    GO   WITH   ART 

"  Perhaps  I  have  gone  hungry,"  says  she,  quiet  like. 

"Honest?"  says  I. 

"  That  steak  lasted  me  for  a  week,"  says  she. 

There  was  more  particulars  followed  that  throws 
Cornelia  Ann  on  the  screen  in  a  new  way  for  me. 
Grit!  Why,  she  had  enough  to  sand  a  tarred  roof. 
She'd  lived  on  ham  knuckles  and  limed  eggs  and 
Swiss  cheese  for  months.  She'd  turned  her  dresses 
inside  out  and  upside  down,  lined  her  shoes  with  paper 
when  it  was  wet,  and  wore  a  long  sleeved  shirt  waist 
when  there  wa'n't  another  bein'  used  this  side  of  the 
prairies.  And  you  can  judge  what  that  means  by 
watchin'  the  women  size  each  other  up  in  a  street 
car. 

"  If  they'd  only  given  me  half  a  chance  to  show 
what  I  could  do ! "  says  she.  "  But  I  didn't  get  the 
chance,  and  perhaps  it  was  my  fault.  So  what's  the 
use?  I'll  just  pack  up  and  go  back  to  Minnekeegan." 

"  Minnekeegan !  "  says  I.  "  That  sounds  tough. 
What  then?" 

"  Oh,"  says  she,  "  my  brother  is  foreman  in  a  broom 
factory.  He  will  get  me  a  job  at  pasting  labels." 

"  Say,"  says  I,  gettin'  a  quick  rush  of  blood  to  the 
head,  "  s'posen  I  should  contract  for  a  full  length  of 
Swifty  Joe  to  hang  here  in " 

"  No  you  don't !  "  says  she,  edgin'  off.  "  It's  good 
of  you,  but  charity  work  isn't  what  I  want." 

233 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

Say,  it  wa'n't  any  of  my  funeral,  but  that  broom 
fact'ry  proposition  stayed  with  me  quite  some  time. 
The  thoughts  of  anyone  havin'  to  go  back  to  a  place 
with  a  name  like  Minnekeegan  was  bilious  enough ;  but 
for  a  girl  that  had  laid  out  to  give  Macmonnies  a  run 
for  the  gold  medal,  the  label  pastin'  prospect  must  have 
loomed  up  like  a  bad  dream. 

There's  one  good  thing  about  other  folks's  troubles 
though — they're  easy  put  on  the  shelf.  Soon's  I  gets 
to  work  I  forgets  all  about  Cornelia  Ann.  I  has  to 
run  out  to  Rockywold  that  afternoon,  to  put  Mr.  Purdy 
Pell  through  his  reg'lar  course  of  stunts  that  he's  been 
takin'  since  some  one  told  him  he  was  gettin'  to  be  a 
forty-fat.  There  was  a  whole  bunch  of  swells  on 
hand;  for  it's  gettin'  so,  now  they  can  go  and  come 
in  their  own  tourin'  cars,  that  winter  house  parties 
are  just  as  common  as  in  summer. 

"  Thank  heaven  you've  come !  "  says  Mr.  Pell.  "  It 
gives  me  a  chance  to  get  away  from  cards  for  an  hour 
or  so." 

"  Guess  you  need  it,"  says  I.  "  You  look  like  the 
trey  of  spades." 

Then  Pinckney  shows  up  in  the  gym.,  and  he  no 
sooner  sees  us  at  work  with  the  basket  ball  than  he 
begins  to  peel  off.  "  I  say  there !  "  says  he.  "  Count 
me  in  on  some  of  that,  or  I'll  be  pulled  into  another 
rubber." 

234 


SHORTY'S   GO   WITH   ART 

About  an  hour  later,  after  they'd  jollied  me  into 
stayin'  all  night,  I  puts  on  a  sweater  and  starts  out 
for  some  hoof  exercise  in  the  young  blizzard  that  was 
makin'  things  white  outside.  Sadie  holds  me  up  at 
the  door.  Her  cheeks  was  blazin',  and  I  could  see 
she  'was  holdin'  the  Sullivan  temper  down  with  both 
hands. 
,  "  Hello !  "  says  I.  "  What's  been  stirrin'  you  up?  " 

"  Bridge !  "  snaps  she.  "  I  guess  if  you'd  been 
glared  at  for  two  hours,  and  called  stupid  when  you 
lost,  and  worse  names  when  you  won,  you'd  feel  like 
throwing  the  cards  at  some  one." 

"  Well,  why  didn't  you?  "  says  I. 

"  I  did,"  says  she,  "  and  there's  an  awful  row  on ; 
but  I  don't  care !  And  if  you  don't  stop  that  grinnin', 
I'll ." 

Well,  she  does  it.  That's  the  way  with  Sadie,  words 
is  always  too  slow  for  her.  Inside  of  a  minute  she's 
out  chasin'  me  around  the  front  yard  and  peltin'  me 
with  snow  balls. 

"  See  here,"  says  I,  diggin'  a  hunk  of  snow  out  of 
one  ear,  "  that  kind  of  sport's  all  to  the  merry ;  but 
if  I  was  you  I'd  dress  for  the  part.  Snowballin'  in 
slippers  and  silk  stockin's  and  a  lace  dress  is  a  pneu- 
monia bid,  even  if  you  are  such  a  warm  one  on 
top." 

"  Who's  a  red  head  ?  "  says  she.     "  You  just  wait  a 

235 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

minute,  Shorty  McCabe,  and  I'll  make  you  sorry  for 
that!" 

It  wa'n't  a  minute,  it  was  nearer  fifteen;  but  when 
Sadie  shows  up  again  she's  wearin'  the  slickest  Canuck 
costume  you  ever  see,  all  blanket  stripes  and  red  tas- 
sels, like  a  girl  on  a  gift  calendar. 

"  Whe-e-e !  "  says  she,  and  the  snow  begins  to  fly 
in  chunks.  It  was  the  damp,  packy  kind  that  used  to 
make  us  go  out  and  soak  the  tall  hats  when  we  was 
kids.  And  Sadie  hasn't  forgot  how  to  lam  'em  in, 
either.  We  was  havin'  it  hot  and  lively,  all  over  the 
lawn,  when  the  first  thing  I  knows  out  comes  Mrs. 
Purdy  Pell  and  Pinckney  and  a  lot  of  others,  to  join 
in  the  muss.  They'd  dragged  out  a  whole  raft  of 
toboggan  outfits  from  the  attic,  and  the  minute  they 
gets  'em  on  they  begins  to  act  as  coltish  as  two-year- 
olds. 

Well  say,  you  wouldn't  have  thought  high  rollers 
like  them,  that  gets  their  fun  out  of  playin'  the  glass 
works  exhibit  at  the  op'ra,  and  eatin'  one  A.  M.  sup- 
pers at  Sherry's,  and  doublin'  no  trumps  at  a  quarter 
a  point,  could  unbuckle  enough  to  build  snow  forts, 
and  yell  like  Indians,  and  cut  up  like  kids  generally. 
But  they  does — washed  each  other's  faces,  and  laughed 
and  whooped  it  up  until  dark.  Didn't  need  the  dry 
Martinis  to  jolly  up  appetites  for  that  bunch  when 
dinner  time  come,  and  if  there  was  anyone  awake  in 

236 


SHORTY'S   GO   WITH   ART 

Rockywold  after  ten  o'clock  that  night  it  was  the  butler 
and  the  kitchen  help. 

I  looked  for  'em  to  forget  it  all  by  mornin'  and  start 
in  again  on  their  punky  card  games ;  but  they  was  all 
up  bright  and  early,  plannin'  out  new  stunts.  There'd 
been  a  lot  of  snow  dropped  durin'  the  night,  and  some 
one  gets  struck  with  the  notion  that  buildin'  snow  men 
would  be  the  finest  sport  in  the  world.  They  couldn't 
hardly  wait  to  eat  breakfast  before  they  gets  on  their 
blanket  clothes  and  goes  at  it.  They  was  rollin'  up 
snow  all  over  the  place,  as  busy  as  'longshoremen — all 
but  Pinckney.  He  gives  out  that  him  and  me  has 
been  appointed  an  art  committee,  to  rake  in  an  entrance 
fee  of  ten  bones  each  and  decide  who  gets  the  purse 
for  doin'  the  best  job. 

"  G'wan !  "  says  I.  "  I  couldn't  referee  no  such  fool 
tournament  as  this." 

"  That's  right,  be  modest!  "  says  he.  "  Don't  mind 
our  feelings  at  all." 

Then  Sadie  and  Mrs.  Pell  butts  in  and  says  I've  just 
got  to  do  it ;  so  I  does.  We  gives  'em  so  long  to  pile 
up  their  raw  material,  and  half  an  hour  after  that  to 
carve  out  what  they  thinks  they  can  do  best,  nothin' 
barred.  Some  starts  in  on  Teddy  bears,  one  gent  plans 
out  a  cop;  but  the  most  of  'em  don't  try  anything 
harder'n  plain  snow  men,  with  lumps  of  coal  for  eyes, 
and  pipes  stuck  in  to  finish  off  the  face. 

237 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

It  was  about  then  that  Count  Skiphauser  moves  out 
of  the  background  and  begins  to  play  up  strong.  He's 
one  of  these  big,  full  blooded  pretzels  that's  been  every- 
where, and  seen  everything,  and  knows  it  all,  and 
thinks  there  ain't  anything  but  what  he  can  do  a  little 
better'n  anybody  else. 

"  Oh,  well,"  says  he,  "  I  suppose  I  must  show  you 
what  snow  carving  really  is.  I  won  a  prize  for  this 
sort  of  thing  in  Berlin,  you  know." 

"  It's  all  over  now,"  says  I  to  Pinckney.  "  You 
heard  Skippy  pickin'  himself  for  a  winner,  didn't 
you?" 

"  He's  a  bounder,"  says  Pinckney,  talkin'  corner- 
wise — "  lives  on  his  bridge  and  poker  winnings.  He 
mustn't  get  the  prize." 

But  Skiphauser  ain't  much  more'n  blocked  out  a 
head  and  shoulders  'fore  it  was  a  cinch  he  was  a 
ringer,  with  nothin'  but  a  lot  of  rank  amateurs  against 
him.  Soon's  the  rest  saw  what  they  was  up  against 
they  all  laid  down,  for  he  was  makin'  'em  look  like 
six  car  fares.  Course,  there  wa'n't  nothin'  to  do  but 
join  the  gallery  and  watch  him  win  in  a  walk. 

"  Oh,  it's  a  bust  of  Bismarck,  isn't  it  ?  "  says  one  of 
the  women.  "  How  clever  of  you,  Count ! " 

At  that  Skippy  throws  out  his  chest  and  begins  to 
chuck  in  the  flourishes.  That  kind  of  business  suited 
him  down  to  the  ground.  He  cocks  his  head  on  one 

238 


SHORTY'S   GO   WITH   ART 

side,  twists  up  his  lip  whiskers  like  Billy  the  Tooth, 
and  goes  through  all  the  motions  of  a  man  that  knows 
he's  givin'  folks  a  treat. 

"Hates  himself,  don't  he?"  says  I.  "He  must 
have  graduated  from  some  tombstone  foundry." 

Pinckney  was  wild.  So  was  Sadie  and  Mrs.  Purdy 
Pell,  on  account  of  the  free-for-all  bein'  turned  into 
a  game  of  solitaire. 

"  I  just  wish,"  says  Sadie,  "  that  there  was  some 
way  of  taking  him  down  a  peg.  If  I  only  knew  of 
someone  who " 

"  I  do,  if  you  don't,"  says  I. 

Say,  what  do  you  reckon  had  been  cloggin'  my 
thought  works  all  that  time.  I  takes  the  three  of  'em 
to  one  side  and  springs  my  proposition,  tellin'  'em  I'd 
put  it  through  if  they'd  stand  for  it.  Would  they? 
They're  so  tickled  they  almost  squeals. 

I  gets  Swifty  Joe  at  the  Studio  on  the  long  distance 
and  gives  him  his  instructions.  It  was  a  wonder  he 
got  it  straight,  for  sometimes  you  can't  get  an  idea 
into  his  head  without  usin'  a  brace  and  bit,  but  this 
trip  he  shows  up  for  a  high  brow.  Pretty  quick  we 
gets  word  that  it's  all  O.  K.  Pinckney  bulletins  it 
to  the  crowd  that,  while  Sadie's  pulled  out  of  the  com- 
petition, she's  asked  leave  to  put  on  a  sub,  and  that  the 
prize  awardin'  will  be  delayed  until  after  the  returns 
are  all  in. 

239 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

Meantime  I  climbs  into  the  sleigh  and  goes  down 
to  meet  the  express.  Sure  enough,  Cornelia  Ann  was 
aboard,  a  bit  hazy  about  the  kind  of  a  stunt  that's  ex- 
pected of  her,  but  ready  for  anything.  I  don't  go  into 
many  details,  for  fear  of  givin'  her  stage  fright;  but 
I  lets  her  know  that  if  she's  got  any  sculpturin'  tricks 
up  her  sleeve  now's  the  time  to  shake  'em  out. 

"  I've  been  tellin'  some  friends  of  mine,"  says  I, 
"  that  when  it  comes  to  clay  art,  or  plaster  of  paris  art, 
you  was  the  real  lollypop ;  and  I  reckoned  that  if  you 
could  do  pieces  in  mud,  you  could  do  'em  just  as  well 
in  snow." 

"  Snow !  "  says  she.     "  Why,  I  never  tried." 

Maybe  I'd  banked  too  much  on  Cornelia,  or  per- 
haps she  was  right  in  sayin'  this  was  out  of  her  line. 
Anyway,  it  was  a  mighty  disappointed  trio  that  sized 
her  up  when  I  landed  her  under  the  porte  cochere. 

When  she's  run  her  eye  over  the  size  and  swellness 
of  the  place  I've  brought  her  to,  and  seen  a  sample  of 
the  folks,  she  looks  half  scared  to  death.  And  you 
wouldn't  have  played  her  for  a  fav'rite,  either,  if  you'd 
seen  the  cheap  figure  she  cut,  with  them  big  eyes  rollin' 
around,  as  if  she  was  huntin'  for  the  nearest  way  out. 
But  we  give  her  a  cup  of  hot  tea,  makes  her  put  on  a 
pair  of  fleece  lined  overshoes  and  somebody's  Persian 
lamb  jacket,  and  leads  her  out  to  make  a  try  for  the 
championship. 

240 


SHORTY'S   GO   WITH   ART 

Some  of  'em  was  sorry  of  her,  and  tried  to  be 
sociable;  but  others  just  stood  around  and  snickered 
and  whispered  things  behind  their  hands.  Honest,  I 
could  have  thrown  brickbats  at  myself  for  bein'  such  a 
mush  head.  That  wouldn't  have  helped  any  though, 
so  I  gets  busy  and  rolls  together  a  couple  of  chunks 
of  snow  about  as  big  as  flour  barrels  and  piles  one  on 
top  of  the  other. 

"  It's  up  to  you,  Cornie,"  says  I.  "  Can't  you  dig 
something  or  other  out  of  that?" 

She  don't  say  whether  she  can  or  can't,  but  just 
walks  around  it  two  or  three  times,  lookin'  at  it 
dreamy,  like  she  was  in  a  trance.  Next  she  braces 
up  a  bit,  calls  for  an  old  carvin'  knife  and  a  kitchen 
spoon,  and  goes  to  work,  the  whole  push  watchin' 
her  as  if  she  was  some  freak  in  a  cage. 

I  pipes  off  her  motions  for  awhile  real  hopeful,  and 
then  I  edges  out  where  I  could  look  the  other  way. 
Why  say,  all  she'd  done  was  to  hew  out  something 
that  looks  like  a  lot  of  soap  boxes  piled  up  for  a 
bonfire.  It  was  a  case  of  funk,  I  could  see  that ;  and 
maybe  I  wa'n't  feelin'  like  I'd  carried  a  gold  brick 
down  to  the  subtreasury  and  asked  for  the  acid 
test. 

Then  I  begins  to  hear  the  "Oh's!"  and  "Ah's!" 
come  from  the  crowd.  First  off  I  thought  they  was 
guyin'  her,  but  when  I  strolls  back  near  enough  for  a 

241 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

peek  at  what  she  was  up  to,  my  mouth  comes  open,  too. 
Say,  you  wouldn't  believe  it  less'n  you'd  seen  it  done, 
but  she  was  just  fetchin'  out  of  that  heap  of  snow, 
most  as  quick  and  easy  as  if  she  was  unpackin'  it  from 
a  crate,  the  stunningest  lookin'  altogether  girl  that  I 
ever  see  outside  a  museum. 

I  don't  know  who  it  was  supposed  to  be,  or  why. 
She's  holdin'  up  with  one  hand  what  draperies  she's 
got — which  wa'n't  any  too  many — an'  with  the  other 
she's  reachin'  above  her  head  after  somethin'  or  other 
— maybe  the  soap  on  the  top  shelf.  But  she  was  a 
beaut,  all  right.  And  all  Cornelia  was  doin'  to  bring 
her  out  was  just  slashin'  away  careless  with  the  knife 
and  spoon  handle,  hardly  stoppin'  a  second  between 
strokes.  She  simply  had  'em  goggle  eyed.  I  reckon 
they'd  seen  things  just  as  fine  and  maybe  better,  but 
they  hadn't  had  a  front  seat  before,  while  a  little  ninety- 
pound  cinnamon  top  like  Cornelia  Ann  stepped  up 
and  yanked  a  whitewashed  angel  out  of  a  snow 
heap. 

"  It's  wonderful !  "  says  Mrs.  Purdy  Pell. 

"  Looks  to  me  like  we  had  Skippy  fingerin'  the 
citrus,  don't  it  ?  "  says  I. 

The  Count  he's  been  standin'  there  with  his  mouth 
open,  like  the  rest  of  us,  only  growin'  redder  'n' 
redder. 

But  just  then  Cornelia  makes  one  last  swipe,  drops 
242 


SHORTY'S    GO   WITH   ART 

her  tools,  and  steps  back  to  take  a  view.  We  all 
quits  to  see  what's  comin'  next.  Well,  she  looks  and 
looks  at  that  Lady  Reacher  she's  dug  out,  never  savin' 
a  word;  and  before  we  knows  it  she's  slumped  right 
down  there  in  the  snow,  with  both  hands  over  her  face, 
doin'  the  weep  act  like  a  kid. 

In  two  shakes  it  was  Sadie  and  Mrs.  Purdy  Pell  to 
the  rescue,  one  on  each  side,  while  the  rest  of  us  gawps 
on  and  looks  foolish. 

"What  is  it,  you  poor  darling?"  says  Sadie. 

Finally,  after  a  good  weep,  Cornie  unloosens  her 
trouble.  "  Oh,  oh  !  "  says  she.  "  I  just  know  it's  go- 
ing to  rain  to-morrow  !  " 

Now  wouldn't  that  give  you  a  foolish  fit? 

"What  of  it?"  says  Sadie. 

"  That,"  says  she,  pointin'  to  the  snow  lady.  "  She'll 
be  gone  forever.  Oh,  it's  wicked,  wicked !  " 

"  Well,"  says  I,  "  she's  too  big  to  go  in  the  ice 
box." 

"  Never  mind,  dear,"  says  Mrs.  Purdy  Pell ;  "  you 
shall  stay  right  here  and  do  another  one,  in  solid 
marble.  I'll  give  you  a  thousand  for  a  duplicate  of 
that." 

"  And  then  you  must  do  something  for  me,"  says 
Sadie. 

"  And  me,  too,"  says  Mrs.  Dicky  Madison. 

I  didn't  wait  to  hear  any  more,  for  boostin'  lady 
243 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

sculpturesses  ain't  my  reg'lar  work.  But,  from  all  I 
hear  of  Cornelia  Ann,  she  won't  paste  labels  in  any 
broom  fact'ry. 

For  your  simple  liver  and  slow  quitter,  art's  all 
right;  but  it's  a  long  shot,  at  that.     What? 


244 


XVI 

WHY   FERDY   DUCKED 

SAY,  there's  no  tellin',  is  there?  Sometimes  the 
quietest  runnin'  bubbles  blows  up  with  the  biggest 
bang.  Now  look  at  Ferdy.  He  was  as  retirin'  and 
modest  as  a  new  lodge  member  at  his  first  meetin'. 
Why,  he's  so  anxious  to  dodge  makin'  a  show  of  him- 
self that  when  he  comes  here  for  a  private  course  I 
has  to  lock  the  Studio  door  and  post  Swifty  Joe  on  the 
outside  to  see  that  nobody  butts  in. 

All  the  Dobsons  is  that  way.  They're  the  kind  of 
folks  that  lives  on  Fifth-ave.,  with  the  front  shades 
always  pulled  down,  and  they  shy  at  gettin'  their 
names  in  the  papers  like  it  was  bein'  served  with  a 
summons. 

Course,  they  did  have  their  dose  of  free  advertisin' 
once,  when  that  Tootsy  Peroxide  bobbed  up  and  tried 
to  break  old  Peter  Dobson's  will;  but  that  case  hap- 
pened so  long  ago,  and  there's  been  so  many  like  it 
since,  that  hardly  anybody  but  the  Dobsons  remembers 
it.  Must  have  been  a  good  deal  of  a  jolt  at  the  time, 
though ;  for  as  far  as  I've  seen,  they're  nice  folks,  and 

245 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

the  real  thing  in  the  fat  wad  line,  specially  Ferdy. 
He's  that  genteel  and  refined  he  has  to  have  pearl  grey 
boxin'  gloves  to  match  his  gym.  suit. 

Well,  I  wa'n't  thinkin'  any  of  him,  or  his  set,  havin* 
just  had  a  session  with  a  brewer's  son  that  I've  took 
on  durin'  the  dull  season,  when  I  looks  out  into  the 
front  office  and  sees  my  little  old  Bishop  standin'  there 
moppin'  his  face. 

"  Hello,  Bishop !  "  I  sings  out.  "  Thought  you  was 
in  Newport,  herdin'  the  flock." 

"  So  I  was,  Shorty/'  says  he,  "  until  six  hours  ago. 
I  came  down  to  look  for  a  stray  lamb." 

"Tried  Wall  Street?"  says  I. 

"  He  is  not  that  kind  of  a  lamb,"  says  the  Bishop. 
"  It  is  Ferdinand  Dobson.  Have  you  seen  him 
recently  ?  " 

"What!  Ferdy?"  says  I.  "Not  for  weeks. 
They're  all  up  at  their  Lenox  place,  ain't  they?  " 

No,  they  wa'n't.  And  then  the  Bishop  puts  me 
next  to  a  little  news  item  that  hadn't  got  into  the 
society  column  yet.  Ferdy,  after  gettin'  to  be  most 
twenty-five,  has  been  hooked.  The  girl's  name  was 
Alicia,  and  soon's  I  heard  it  I  placed  her,  havin'  seen 
her  a  few  times  at  different  swell  ranches  where  I've 
been  knockin'  around  in  the  background.  As  I  re- 
members her,  she  has  one  of  these  long,  high  toned 
faces,  and  a  shape  to  match — not  what  you'd  call  a 

246 


WHY    FERDY    DUCKED 

neck  twister,  but  somethin'  real  classy  and  high  browed, 
just  the  sort  you'd  look  for  Ferdy  to  tag. 

Seems  they'd  been  doin'  the  lovey-dovey  for  more'n 
a  year ;  but  all  on  the  sly,  meetin'  each  other  at  after- 
noon teas,  and  now  and  then  havin'  a  ten-minute  hand 
holdin'  match  under  a  palm  somewhere.  They  was 
so  cute  about  it  that  even  their  folks  didn't  suspect  it 
was  a  case  of  honey  and  honey  boy;  not  that  anyone 
would  have  raised  a  kick,  but  because  Ferdy  don't 
want  any  fuss  made  about  it. 

When  Alicia's  mother  gets  the  facts,  though,  she 
writes  a  new  program.  She  don't  stand  for  springin' 
any  quiet  weddin's  on  her  set.  She  plans  a  big  party, 
where  the  engagement  bulletin  is  to  be  flashed  on  the 
screen  reg'lar  and  proper,  so's  folks  can  be  orderin' 
their  dresses  and  weddin'  presents. 

Ferdy  balks  some  at  the  thought  of  bein'  dragged 
to  the  centre  of  the  stage;  but  he  grits  his  teeth  and 
tells  'em  that  for  this  once  they  can  go  as  far  as  they 
like.  He  even  agrees  to  leave  home  for  a  week  and 
mix  it  at  a  big  house  party,  just  to  get  himself  broke 
in  to  meetin'  strangers. 

Up  to  within  two  days  of  the  engagement  stunt  he 
was  behavin'  lovely;  and  the  next  thing  they  knows, 
just  when  he  should  be  gettin'  ready  to  show  up  at 
Newport,  he  can't  be  found.  It  has  all  the  looks  of 
his  leavin'  his  clothes  on  the  bank  and  jumpin'  the 

247 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

night  freight.  Course,  the  Dobsons  ain't  sayin'  a  word 
to  Alicia's  folks  yet.  They  gets  their  friends  together 
to  organise  a  still  hunt  for  Ferdy ;  and  the  Bishop  bein' 
one  of  the  inside  circle,  he's  sent  out  as  head  scout. 

"  And  I  am  at  my  wits'  ends,"  says  he.  "  No  one 
has  seen  him  in  Newport,  and  I  can't  find  him  at  any 
of  his  clubs  here." 

"  How  about  the  Fifth-ave.  mausoleum  ?  "  says  I. 

"  His  man  is  there,"  says  the  Bishop ;  "  but  he  seems 
unable  to  give  me  any  information." 

"  Does,  eh  ?  "  says  I.  "  Well,  you  take  it  from  me 
that  if  anyone's  got  a  line  on  Ferdy,  it's  that  clam  faced 
Kupps  of  his.  He's  been  trained  so  fine  in  the  silence 
business  that  he  hardly  dares  open  his  mouth  when  he 
eats.  Go  up  there  and  put  him  through  the  wringer." 

"Do  what?"  says  the  Bishop. 

"  Give  him  the  headquarters  quiz,"  says  I.  "  Tell 
him  you  come  straight  from  mother  and  sisters,  and 
that  Ferdy's  got  to  be  found." 

"  I  hardly  feel  equal  to  doing  just  that,"  says  the 
Bishop  in  his  mild  way.  "  Now  if  you  could 
only " 

"  Why,  sure !  "  says  I.  "  It'd  do  me  good  to  take 
a  whirl  out  of  that  Englishman.  I'll  make  him  give 
up!" 

He's  a  bird  though,  that  Kupps.  I  hadn't  talked 
with  him  two  minutes  before  I  would  have  bet  my 

248 


WHY    FERDY    DUCKED 

pile  he  knew  all  about  where  Ferdy  was  roostin'  and 
what  he  was  up  to;  but  when  it  come  to  draggin'  out 
the  details,  you  might  just  as  well  have  been  tryin' 
to  pry  up  a  pavin'  stone  with  a  fountain  pen.  Was 
Ferdy  in  town,  or  out  of  town,  and  when  would  he 
be  back?  Kupps  couldn't  say.  He  wouldn't  even  tell 
how  long  it  was  since  he  had  seen  Ferdy  last.  And 
say,  you  know  how  pig  headed  one  of  them  hen  brained 
Cockneys  can  be  ?  I  feels  my  collar  gettin'  tight. 

"  Look  here,  Hiccups !  "  says  I.     "  You " 

"  Kupps,  sir,"  says  he.  "  Thomas  Kupps  is  my 
full  nyme,  sir." 

"  Well,  Teacups,  then,  if  that  suits  you  better,"  says 
1  "  You  don't  seem  to  have  got  it  into  your  head 
that  the  Bishop  ain't  just  buttin'  in  here  for  the  fun 
of  the  thing.  This  matter  of  retrievin'  Ferdy  is 
serious.  Now  you're  sure  he  didn't  leave  any  private 
messages,  or  notes  or  anything  of  that  kind  ?  " 
•  "  Nothink  of  the  sort,  sir ;  nothink  whatever,"  says 
Kupps. 

"  Well,  you  just  show  us  up  to  his  rooms,"  says  I, 
"  and  we'll  have  a  look  around  for  ourselves.  Eh, 
Bishop?" 

"  Perhaps  it  would  be  the  best  thing  to  do,"  says  the 
Bishop. 

Kupps  didn't  want  to  do  it;  but  I  gives  him  a  look 
that  changes  his  mind,  and  up  we  goes.  I  was  think- 

249 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

in'  that  if  Ferdy  had  got  chilly  feet  at  the  last  minute 
and  done  the  deep  dive,  maybe  he'd  left  a  few  lines 
layin'  around  his  desk.  There  wa'n't  anything  in 
sight,  though ;  nothin'  but  a  big  photograph  of  a  wide, 
full  chested  lady,  propped  up  against  the  rail. 

"  That  don't  look  much  like  the  fair  Alicia,"  says  I. 

The  Bishop  puts  on  his  nigh-to  glasses  and  says  it 
ain't.  He  thinks  it  must  have  been  took  of  a  lady 
that  he'd  seen  Ferdy  chinnin'  at  the  house  party,  where 
he  got  his  last  glimpse  of  him. 

"  Good  deal  of  a  hummin'  bird,  she  is,  eh  ?  "  says  I, 
pickin'  it  up.  "  Tutty  tut !  Look  what's  here !  "  Be- 
hind it  was  a  photo  of  Alicia. 

"  And  here's  somethin'  else,"  says  I.  On  the  back 
of  the  big  picture  was  scribbled,  "  From  Ducky  to 
Ferdy,"  and  the  date. 

"  Yesterday !  "  gasps  the  Bishop. 

"  Well,  well !  "  says  I.  "  That's  advancin'  the  spark 
some!  If  he  meets  her  only  a  week  or  so  ago,  and 
by  yesterday  she's  got  so  far  as  bein'  his  ducky,  it  looks 
like  Alicia'd  have  to  get  out  and  take  the  car  ahead." 

The  Bishop  acts  stunned,  gazin'  from  me  to  the 
picture,  as  if  he'd  been  handed  one  on  the  dizzy  bone. 
"  You — you  don't  mean,"  says  he,  "  that  you  suspect 
Ferdy  of— of " 

"  I  hate  to  think  it,"  says  I ;  "  but  this  looks  like  a 
quick  shift.  Kupps,  who's  Ferdy's  lady  friend  ?  " 

250 


WHY    FERDY    DUCKED 

"  Mr.  Dobson  didn't  sye,  sir,"  says  Kupps. 

"  Very  thoughtless  of  him,"  says  I.  "  Come  on, 
Bishop,  we'll  take  this  along  as  a  clue  and  see  what 
Vandy  has  to  say." 

He's  a  human  kodak,  Vandy  is — makes  a  livin'  tak- 
in'  pictures  for  the  newspapers.  You  can't  break  into 
the  swell  push,  or  have  an  argument  with  Teddy,  or 
be  tried  for  murder,  without  Vandy's  showin'  up  to 
make  a  few  negatives.  So  I  flashes  the  photo  of 
Ducky  on  him. 

"  Who's  the  wide  one  ?  "  says  I. 

"  Why,  don't  you  know  who  that  is,  Shorty  ? " 
says  he. 

"  Say,  do  you  think  I'd  be  chasin'  up  any  flash- 
light pirate  like  you,  if  I  did  ?  "  says  I.  "  What's  her 
name?" 

"  That's  Madam  Brooklini,  of  course,"  says  he. 

"What,  the  thousand-dollar-a-minute  warbler?" 
says  I.  "  And  me  seein'  her  lithographs  all  last  win- 
ter! Gee,  Bishop!  I  thought  you  followed  grand 
opera  closer'n  that." 

"  I  should  have  recalled  her,"  says  the  Bishop ;  "  but 
I  see  so  many  faces " 

"  Only  a  few  like  that,  though,"  says  I.  "  Vandy, 
where  do  you  reckon  Mrs.  Greater  New  York  could  be 
located  just  about  now?" 

Vandy  has  the  whole  story  down  pat.  Seems  she's 
251 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

been  over  here  out  of  season  bringin'  suit  against  her 
last  manager;  but  havin'  held  him  up  for  everything 
but  the  gold  fillin'  in  his  front  teeth,  she  is  booked  to 
sail  back  to  her  Irish  castle  at  four  in  the  mornin'. 
He  knows  the  steamer  and  the  pier  number. 

"  Four  A.  M.,  eh  ?  "  says  I.  "  That  means  she's 
likely  to  be  aboard  now,  gettin'  settled.  Bishop,  if 
that  Ducky  business  was  a  straight  steer,  it's  ten  to 
one  that  a  friend  of  ours  is  there  sayin'  good-bye. 
Shall  we  follow  it  up  ?  " 

"  I  can  hardly  credit  it,"  says  he.  "  However,  if 
you  think " 

"  It's  no  cinch,"  says  I ;  "  but  this  is  a  case  where 
it  won't  do  to  bank  on  past  performances.  From 
all  the  signs,  Ferdy  has  struck  a  new  gait." 

The  Bishop  throws  up  both  hands.  "  How  clearly 
you  put  it,"  says  he,  "  and  how  stupid  of  me  not 
to  understand!  Should  we  visit  the  steamer,  or 
not?" 

"  Bishop,"  says  I,  "  you're  a  good  guesser.  We 
should." 

And  there  wa'n't  any  trouble  about  locatin'  the  high 
C  artist.  All  we  has  to  do  is  to  walk  along  the 
promenade  deck  until  we  comes  to  a  suite  where  the 
cabin  stewards  was  poppin'  in  and  out,  luggin'  bunches 
of  flowers  and  baskets  of  fruit,  and  gettin'  the  book 
signed  for  telegrams.  The  Bishop  was  for  askin'  ques- 

252 


WHY    FERDY    DUCKED 

tions  and  sendin'  in  his  card;  but  I  gets  him  by  the 
sleeve  and  tows  him  right  in. 

I  hadn't  made  any  wrong  guess,  either.  There  in 
the  corner  of  the  state  room,  planted  in  a  big  wicker 
arm  chair,  with  a  jar  of  long  stemmed  American 
beauts  on  one  side,  was  Madam  Brooklini.  On  the 
other  side,  sittin'  edgeways  on  a  canvas  stool  and 
holdin'  her  left  hand,  was  Ferdy. 

I  could  make  a  guess  as  to  how  the  thing  had  come 
around;  Ferdy  breakin'  from  his  shell  at  the  house 
party,  runnin'  across  Brooklini  under  a  soft  light,  and 
losin'  his  head  the  minute  she  begins  cooin'  low  notes 
to  him.  That's  what  she  was  doin'  now,  him  gazin' 
up  at  her,  and  her  gazin'  down  at  him.  It  was  about 
the  mushiest  performance  I  ever  see. 

"  Ahem !  "  says  the  Bishop,  clearin'  his  throat  and 
blushin'  a  lovely  maroon  colour.  "  I — er — we  did  not 
intend  to  intrude;  but " 

Then  it  was  up  to  Ferdy  to  show  the  red.  He 
opens  his  mouth  and  gawps  at  us  for  a  whole  minute 
before  he  can  get  out  a  word.  "  Why — why,  Bishop !  " 
he  pants.  "  What— how " 

Before  he  has  time  to  choke,  or  the  Bishop  can 
work  up  a  case  of  apoplexy,  I  jumps  into  the  ring. 
"  Excuse  us  doin'  the  goat  act,"  says  I ;  "  but  the 
Bishop  has  got  some  word  for  you  from  the  folks  at 
home,  and  he  wants  to  get  it  off  his  mind." 

253 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

"  Ah,  friends  of  yours,  Ferdy  ?  "  says  Madam  Brook- 
lini,  throwin'  us  about  four  hundred  dollars'  worth  of 
smile. 

There  was  nothin'  for  Ferdy  to  do  then  but  pull 
himself  together  and  make  us  all  acquainted.  And  say, 
I  never  shook  hands  with  so  much  jewelry  all  at  once 
before!  She  has  three  or  four  bunches  of  sparks  on 
each  finger,  not  to  mention  a  thumb  ring.  Oh,  there 
wa'n't  any  mistakin'  who  skimmed  the  cream  off  the 
box  office  receipts  after  you'd  took  a  look  at  her ! 

And  for  a  straight  front  Venus  she  was  the  real 
maraschino.  Course,  even  if  the  complexion  was 
true,  you  wouldn't  put  her  down  as  one  of  this  spring's 
hatch ;  but  for  a  broad,  heavy  weight  girl  she  was  the 
fancy  goods.  And  when  she  cuts  loose  with  that 
eighteen-carat  voice  of  hers,  and  begins  to  roll  them 
misbehavin'  eyes,  you  forgot  how  the  chair  was  creak- 
in'  under  her.  The  Bishop  has  all  he  can  do  to  re- 
member why  he  was  there;  but  he  manages  to  get 
out  that  he'd  like  a  few  minutes  on  the  side  with 
Ferdy. 

"  If  your  message  relates  in  any  way  to  my  return 
to  Newport,"  says  Ferdy,  stiffenin'  up,  "  it  is  useless. 
I  am  not  going  there ! " 

"  But,  my  dear  Ferdy "  begins  the  Bishop,  when 

the  lady  cuts  in. 

"  That's  right,  Bishop,"  says  she.  "  I  do  hope  you 
254 


WHY    FERDY    DUCKED 

can  persuade  the  silly  boy  to  stop  following  me  around 
and  teasing  me  to  marry  him." 

"  Oh,  naughty !  "  says  I  under  my  breath. 

The  Bishop  just  looks  from  one  to  the  other,  and 
then  he  braces  up  and  says,  "  Ferdinand,  this  is  not 
possible,  is  it  ?  " 

It  was  up  to  Ferdy  again.  He  gives  a  squirm  or 
two  as  he  catches  the  Bishop's  eye,  and  the  dew  was 
beginnin'  to  break  out  on  his  noble  brow,  when  Ducky 
reaches  over  and  gives  his  hand  a  playful  little  squeeze. 
That  was  a  nerve  restorer. 

"  Bishop,"  says  he,  "  I  must  tell  you  that  I  am  madly, 
hopelessly,  in  love  with  this  lady,  and  that  I  mean  to 
make  her  my  wife." 

"  Isn't  he  the  dearest  booby  you  ever  saw !  "  gurgles 
Madam  Brooklini.  "  He  has  been  saying  nothing  but 
that  for  the  last  five  days.  And  now  he  says  he  is 
going  to  follow  me  across  the  ocean  and  keep  on 
saying  it.  But  you  must  stop,  Ferdy;  really,  you 
must." 

"  Never !  "  says  Ferdy,  gettin'  a  good  grip  on  the  cut 
glass  exhibit. 

"  Such  persistence !  "  says  Ducky,  shiftin'  her  search- 
lights from  him  to  us  and  back  again.  "  And  he 
knows  I  have  said  I  would  not  marry  again.  I 
mustn't.  My  managers  don't  like  it.  Why,  every 
time  I  marry  they  raise  a  most  dreadful  row.  But 

255 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

what  can  I  do  ?  Ferdy  insists,  you  see ;  and  if  he  keeps 
it  up,  I  just  know  I  shall  have  to  take  him.  Please  be 
good,  Ferdy ! " 

Wouldn't  that  make  you  seasick?  But  the  Bishop 
comes  to  the  front  like  he'd  heard  a  call  to  man  the 
lifeboat. 

"  It  may  influence  you  somewhat,"  says  he,  "  to 
learn  that  for  nearly  a  year  Ferdinand  has  been  secretly 
engaged  to  a  very  estimable  young  woman." 

"  I  know,"  says  she,  tearin'  off  a  little  giggle. 
"  Ferdy  has  told  me  all  about  Alicia.  What  a  wicked, 
deceitful  wretch  he  is!  isn't  he?  Aren't  you  ashamed, 
Ferdy,  to  act  so  foolish  over  me  ?  " 

If  Ferdy  was,  he  hid  it  well.  All  he  seemed  willin' 
to  do  was  to  sit  there,  holdin'  her  hand  and  lookin' 
as  soft  as  a  custard  pie,  while  the  Lady  Williamsburg 
tells  what  a  tough  job  she  has  dodgin'  matrimony,  on 
account  of  her  yieldin'  disposition.  I  didn't  know 
whether  to  hide  my  face  in  my  hat,  or  go  out  and  lean 
over  the  rail.  I  guess  the  Bishop  wa'n't  feelin'  any 
too  comfortable  either ;  but  he  was  there  to  do  his  duty, 
so  he  makes  one  last  stab. 

"  Ferdinand,"  says  he,  "  your  mother  asked  me  to 
say  that " 

"  Tell  her  I  was  never  so  happy  in  my  life,"  says 
Ferdy,  pattin'  a  broadside  of  solitaires  and  marquise 
rings. 

256 


WHY    FERDY    DUCKED 

"  Come  on,  Bishop,"  says  I.  "  There's  only  one  cure 
for  a  complaint  of  that  kind,  and  it  looks  like  Ferdy 
was  bound  to  take  it." 

We  was  just  startin'  for  the  deck,  when  the  door  was 
blocked  by  a  steward  luggin'  in  another  sheaf  of  roses, 
and  followed  by  a  couple  of  middle  aged,  jolly  lookin' 
gents,  smokin'  cigars  and  marchin'  arm  in  arm.  One 
was  a  tall,  well  built  chap  in  a  silk  hat ;  the  other  was 
a  short,  pussy,  ruby  beaked  gent  in  French  flannels 
and  a  Panama. 

"  Hello,  sweety !  "  says  the  tall  one. 

"  Peekaboo,  dearie !  "  sings  out  the  other. 

"  Dick !  Jimmy !  "  squeals  Madam  Brooklini,  givin' 
a  hand  to  each  of  'em,  and  leavin'  Ferdy  holdin'  the 
air.  "  Oh,  how  delightfully  thoughtful  of  you !  " 

"  Tried  to  ring  in  old  Grubby,  too,"  says  Dick ;  "  but 
he  couldn't  get  away.  He  chipped  in  for  the  flowers, 
though." 

"  Dear  old  Grubby !  "  says  she.  "  Let's  see,  he  was 
my  third,  wasn't  he  ?  " 

"  Why,  dearie !  "  says  Dicky  boy,  "  I  was  Number 
Three.  Grubby  was  your  second." 

"  Really !  "  says  she.  "  But  I  do  get  you  so  mixed. 
Oh ! "  and  then  she  remembers  Ferdy.  "  Ducky, 
dear,"  she  goes  on,  "  I  do  want  you  to  know  these 
gentlemen — two  of  my  former  husbands." 

"  Wha-a-at !  "  gasps  Ferdy,  his  eyes  buggin'  out. 
257 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

I  hears  the  Bishop  groan  and  flop  on  a  seat  behind 
me.  Honest,  it  was  straight!  Dick  and  Jimmy  was 
a  couple  of  discards,  old  Grubby  was  another,  and 
inside  of  a  minute  blamed  if  she  hadn't  mentioned  a 
fourth,  that  was  planted  somewhere  on  the  other  side. 
Course,  for  a  convention  there  wouldn't  have  been  a 
straight  quorum ;  but  there  was  enough  answerin'  roll 
call  to  make  it  pass  for  a  reunion,  all  right. 

And  it  was  a  peach  while  it  lasted.  The  pair  of 
has-beens  didn't  have  long  to  stay,  one  havin'  to  get 
back  to  Chicago  and  the  other  bein'  billed  to  start 
on  a  yachtin'  trip.  They'd  just  run  over  to  say  by-by ; 
and  tell  how  they  was  plannin'  an  annual  dinner,  with 
the  judges  and  divorce  lawyers  for  guests.  Yes,  yes, 
they  was  a  jolly  couple,  them  two!  All  the  Bishop 
could  do  was  lay  back  and  fan  himself  as  he  listens, 
once  in  awhile  whisperin'  to  himself,  "  My,  my !  "  As 
for  Ferdy,  he  looked  like  he'd  been  hypnotised  and  was 
waitin'  to  be  woke  up. 

The  pair  was  sayin'  good-bye  for  the  third  and  last 
time,  when  in  rushes  a  high  strung,  nervous  young 
feller  with  a  pencil  behind  his  ear  and  a  pad  in  his 
hand. 

"Well,  Larry,  what  is  it  now?"  snaps  out  Madam 
Brooklini,  doin'  the  lightnin'  change  act  with  her  voice. 
"  I  am  engaged,  you  see." 

"  Can't  help  it,"  says  Larry.     "  Got  fourteen   re- 

258   ' 


WHY    FERDY    DUCKED 

porters  and  eight  snapshot  men  waiting  to  do  the  sail- 
ing story  for  the  morning  editions.  Shall  I  bring 
'em  up?" 

"  But  I  am  entertaining  two  of  my  ex-husbands," 
says  the  lady,  "  and " 

"  Great !  "  says  Larry.  "  We'll  put  'em  in  the  group. 
Who's  the  other?" 

"Oh,  that's  only  Ferdy,"  says  she.  "I  haven't 
married  him  yet." 

"  Bully !  "  says  Larry.  "  We  can  get  half  a  column 
of  space  out  of  him  alone.  He  goes  in  the  pictures 
too.  We'll  label  him  '  Next/  or  '  Number  Five  Elect,' 
or  something  like  that.  Line  'em  up  outside,  will 
you?" 

"  Oh,  pshaw !  "  says  Madam  Brooklini.  "  What  a 
nuisance  these  press  agents  are !  But  Larry  is  so  en- 
terprising. Come,  we'll  make  a  splendid  group,  the 
four  of  us.  Come,  Ferdy." 

"  Reporters !  "  Ferdy  lets  it  come  out  of  him  kind 
of  hoarse  and  husky,  like  he'd  just  seen  a  ghost. 

But  I  knew  the  view  that  he  was  gettin';  his  name 
in  the  headlines,  his  picture  on  the  front  page,  and  all 
the  chappies  at  the  club  and  the  whole  Newport 
crowd  chucklin'  and  nudgin'  each  other  over  the  story 
of  how  he  was  taggin'  around  after  an  op'ra  singer 
that  had  a  syndicate  of  second  hand  husbands. 

"  No,  no,  no  I  "  says  he.  It  was  the  only  time  I 
259 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

ever  heard  Ferdy  come  anywhere  near  a  yell,  and 
I  wouldn't  have  believed  he  could  have  done  it  if  I 
hadn't  had  my  eyes  on  him  as  he  jumps  clear  of  the 
corner,  makes  a  flyin'  break  through  the  bunch,  and 
streaks  it  down  the  deck  for  the  forward  companion- 
way. 

Me  and  the  Bishop  didn't  wait  to  see  the  finish 
of  that  group  picture.  We  takes  after  Ferdy  as  fast 
as  the  Bishop's  wind  would  let  us,  he  bein'  afraid  that 
Ferdy  was  up  to  somethin'  desperate,  like  jumpin'  off 
the  dock.  All  Ferdy  does,  though,  is  jump  into  a  cab 
and  drive  for  home,  us  trailin'  on  behind.  We  was 
close  enough  at  the  end  of  the  run  to  see  him  bolt 
through  the  door ;  but  Kupps  tells  us  that  Mr.  Dobson 
has  left  orders  not  to  let  a  soul  into  the  house. 

Early  next  mornin',  though,  the  Bishop  comes 
around  and  asks  me  to  go  up  while  he  tries  again, 
and  after  we've  stood  on  the  steps  for  ten  minutes, 
waitin'  for  Kupps  to  take  in  a  note,  we're  shown  up 
to  Ferdy 's  bed  room.  He's  in  silk  pajamas  and  bath 
robe,  lookin'  white  and  hollow  eyed.  Every  mornin' 
paper  in  town  is  scattered  around  the  room,  and  not 
one  of  'em  with  less  than  a  whole  column  about  how 
Madam  Brooklini  sailed  for  Europe. 

"Any  of  'em  got  anything  to  say  about  Number 
Five  ?  "  says  I. 

"  Thank   heaven,    no !  "    groans    Ferdy.     "  Bishop, 


WHY    FERDY    DUCKED 

what  do  you  suppose  poor  dear  Alicia  thinks  of  me, 
though?" 

"  Why,  my  son,"  says  the  Bishop,  his  little  eyes 
sparklin',  "  I  suppose  she  is  thinking  that  it  is  'most 
time  for  you  to  arrive  in  Newport,  as  you  promised." 

"Then  she  doesn't  know  what  an  ass  I've  been?" 
says  Ferdy.  "  No  one  has  told  her?  " 

"  Shorty,  have  you  ?  "  says  the  Bishop. 

And  when  Ferdy  sees  me  grinnin',  and  it  breaks  on 
him  that  me  and  the  Bishop  are  the  only  ones  that 
know  about  this  dippy  streak  of  his,  he's  the  thank- 
fulest  cuss  you  ever  saw.  Alicia?  He  could  hardly 
get  there  quick  enough  to  suit  him ;  and  the  knot's  to 
be  tied  inside  of  the  next  month. 

"  Marryin's  all  right,"  says  I  to  Ferdy,  "  so  long's 
you  don't  let  the  habit  grow  on  you." 


261 


XVII 

WHEN  SWIFTY  WAS  GOING  SOME 

SAY,  I  don't  play  myself  for  any  human  cheese 
tester,  but  I  did  think  I  had  Swifty  Joe  Gallagher  all 
framed  up  long  ago.  Not  that  I  ever  made  any  special 
study  of  Swifty;  but  knowin'  him  for  as  long  as  I 
have,  and  havin'  him  helpin'  me  in  the  Studio,  I  got 
the  notion  that  I  was  wise  to  most  of  his  curves.  I've 
got  both  hands  in  the  air  now,  though. 

Goin'  back  over  the  last  few  months  too,  I  can  see 
where  I  might  have  got  a  line  on  him  before.  But,  oh 
no !  Nothin'  could  jar  me  out  of  believin'  he  wouldn't 
ever  run  against  the  form  sheet  I'd  made  out.  The 
first  glimmer  I  gets  was  when  I  finds  Joe  in  the  front 
office  one  day,  planted  before  the  big  lookin'  glass, 
havin'  a  catch  as  catch  can  with  his  hair. 

"  Hully  chee ! "  says  he,  dippin'  one  of  my  military 
brushes  in  the  wash  basin.  "  That's  fierce,  ain't  it, 
Shorty?" 

"  If  it's  your  nerve  in  helpin'  yourself  to  my  bureau 
knickknacks,"  says  I,  "  I  agree  with  you." 

"  Ah,  can  the  croak !  "  says  he.  "  I  ain't  eatin'  the 
bristles  off,  am  I!" 

262 


WHEN    SWIFTY   WAS   GOING   SOME 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  fussin',"  says  I;  "but  what  you  need 
to  use  on  that  thatch  is  a  currycomb  and  a  lawn  rake." 

"  Ah,  say !  "  says  he,  "  I  don't  see  as  it's  so  much 
worse  than  others  I  know  of.  It's  all  right  when  I  can 
get  it  to  lay  down  in  the  back.  How's  that,  now  ?  " 

"  Great !  "  says  I.  "  Couldn't  be  better  if  you'd  used 
fish  glue." 

Maybe  you  never  noticed  how  Swifty's  top  piece  is 
finished  off?  He  has  a  mud  coloured  growth  that's 
as  soft  as  a  shoe  brush.  It  behaves  well  enough  when 
it's  dry ;  but  after  he's  got  it  good  and  wet  it  breaks  up 
into  ridges  that  overlap,  same  as  shingles  on  a  roof. 

But  then,  you  wouldn't  be  lookin'  for  any  camel's 
hair  finish  on  a  nut  like  Swifty's — not  with  that  face. 
Course,  he  ain't  to  blame  for  the  undershot  jaw,  nor 
the  way  his  ears  lop,  nor  the  width  of  his  smile.  We 
don't  all  have  gifts  like  that,  thanks  be !  And  it  wa'n't 
on  purpose  Swifty  had  his  nose  bent  in.  That  come 
from  not  duckin'  quick  enough  when  Gans  swung  with 
his  right. 

So  long  as  he  kept  in  his  class,  though,  and  wa'n't 
called  on  to  understudy  Kyrle  Bellew,  Swifty  met  all 
the  specifications.  If  I  was  wantin'  a  parlour  ornament, 
I  might  shy  some  at  Swifty's  style  of  beauty;  but 
showin'  bilious  brokers  how  to  handle  the  medicine 
ball  is  a  job  that  don't  call  for  an  exchange  of  photo- 
graphs. He  may  have  an  outline  that  looks  like  a 

263 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

map  of  a  stone  quarry,  and  perhaps  his  ways  are  a 
little  on  the  fritz,  but  Swifty's  got  good  points  that 
I  couldn't  find  bunched  again  if  I  was  to  hunt  through 
a  crowd.  So,  when  I  find  him  worryin'  over  the  set 
of  his  back  hair,  I  gets  interested. 

"  What's  the  coiffure  for,  anyway  ?  "  says  I.  "  Coin' 
to  see  the  girl,  eh  ?  " 

Course,  that  was  a  josh.  You  can't  look  at  Swifty 
and  try  to  think  of  him  doin'  the  Romeo  act  without 
grinnin*. 

"Ahr,  chee !  "  says  he. 

Now,  I've  sprung  that  same  jolly  on  him  a  good 
many  times;  but  I  never  see  him  work  up  a  colour 
over  it  before.  Still,  the  idea  of  him  gettin'  kittenish 
was  too  much  of  a  strain  on  the  mind  for  me  to  fol- 
low up. 

It  was  the  same  about  his  breakin'  into  song.  He'd 
never  done  that,  either,  until  one  mornin'  I  hears  a 
noise  comin'  from  the  back  room  that  sounds  like  some 
one  blowin'  on  a  bottle.  I  steps  over  to  the  door 
easy,  and  hanged  if  I  didn't  make  out  that  it  was 
Swifty  takin'  a  crack  at  something  that  might  be, 
"  Oh,  how  I  love  my  Lulu !  " 

"  You  must,"  says  I,  "  if  it  makes  you  feel  as  bad 
as  all  that.  Does  Lulu  know  it?" 

"Ahr,  chee ! "  says  he. 

Ever  hear  Swifty  shoot  that  over  his  shoulder  with- 
264 


WHEN    SWIFTY   WAS    GOING    SOME 

out  turnin'  his  head?  Talk  about  your  schools  of 
expression!  None  of  'em  could  teach  anyone  to  put 
as  much  into  two  words  as  Swifty  does  into  them. 
They're  a  whole  vocabulary,  the  way  he  uses  'em. 

"  Was  you  tryin'  to  sing,"  says  I,  "  or  just  givin' 
an  imitation  of  a  steamboat  siren  on  a  foggy  night  ?  " 

But  all  I  could  get  out  of  Swifty  was  another 
"Ahr,  chee ! "  He  was  too  happy  and  satisfied  to 
join  in  any  debate,  and  inside  of  ten  minutes  he's  at 
it  again ;  so  I  lets  him  spiel  away. 

"Well,"  thinks  I,  "I'm  glad  my  joy  don't  have 
any  such  effect  on  me  as  that.  I  s'pose  I  can  stand 
it,  if  he  can." 

It  wa'n't  more'n  two  nights  later  that  I  gets  another 
shock.  I  was  feelin'  a  little  nervous,  to  begin  with, 
for  I'd  billed  myself  to  do  a  stunt  I  don't  often  tackle. 
It  was  nothin'  else  than  pilotin'  a  fluff  delegation  to 
some  art  studio  doin's.  Sounds  like  a  Percy  job, 
don't  it  ?  But  it  was  somethin'  put  up  to  me  in  a  way 
I  couldn't  dodge. 

Maybe  you  remember  me  tellin'  you  awhile  back 
about  Cornelia  Ann  Belter?  She  was  the  Minnekeegan 
girl  that  had  a  room  on  the  top  floor  over  the  Physical 
Culture  Studio,  and  was  makin'  a  stab  at  the  sculp- 
ture game — the  one  that  we  got  out  to  Rockywold 
as  a  ringer  in  the  snow  carvin'  contest.  Got  her  placed 
now? 

265 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

Well,  you  know  how  that  little  trick  of  makin'  a 
snow  angel  brought  her  in  orders  from  Mrs.  Purdy 
Pell,  and  Sadie,  and  the  rest?  And  she  didn't  do  a 
thing  but  make  good,  either.  I  hadn't  seen  her  since 
she  quit  the  building ;  but  I'd  heard  how  she  was  doin' 
fine,  and  here  the  other  day  I  gets  a  card  sayin'  she'd 
be  pleased  to  have  my  company  on  a  Wednesday 
night  at  half  after  eight,  givin'  an  address  on  Fifth 
avenue. 

"  Corny  must  be  carvin'  the  cantaloup,"  thinks  I, 
and  then  forgets  all  about  it  until  Sadie  holds  me  up 
and  wants  to  know  if  I'm  goin'. 

"  Nix,"  says  L  "  Them  art  studio  stunts  is  over 
my  head." 

."Oh,  pshaw!"  says  Sadie.  "How  long  since  you 
have  been  afraid  of  Miss  Belter?  Didn't  you  and  I 
help  her  to  get  her  start?  She'll  feel  real  badly  if 
you  don't  come." 

"  She'll  get  over  that,"  says  I. 

"  But  Mrs.  Pell  and  I  will  have  to  go  alone  if  you 
don't  come  with  us,"  says  she.  "  Mr.  Pell  is  out  of 
town,  and  Pinckney  is  too  busy  with  those  twins  and 
that  Western  girl  of  his.  You've  got  to  come,  Shorty." 

"That  settles  it,"  says  I.  "Why  didn't  you  say 
so  first  off?" 

So  that  was  what  I  was  doin'  at  quarter  of  eight 
that  night,  in  my  open  face  vest  and  dinky  little 

266 


WHEN    SWIFTY   WAS    GOING   SOME 

tuxedo,  hustlin'  along  42<d-st,  wonderin'  if  the  folks 
took  me  for  a  head  waiter  late  to  his  job.  You  see, 
after  I  gets  all  ragged  out  I  finds  I've  left  my  patent 
leathers  at  the  Studio.  Swifty  has  said  he  was  goin' 
to  take  the  night  off  too,  so  I'm  some  surprised  to  see 
the  front  office  all  lit  up  like  there  was  a  ball  goin'  on 
up  there.  I  takes  the  steps  three  at  a  time,  expectin'  to 
find  a  couple  of  yeggs  movin'  out  the  safe;  but  when 
I  throws  the  door  open  what  should  I  see,  planted  in 
front  of  the  mirror,  but  Swifty  Joe. 

Not  that  I  was  sure  it  was  him  till  I'd  had  a  second 
look.  It  was  Swifty's  face,  and  Swifty's  hair,  but  the 
costume  was  a  philopena.  It  would  have  tickled  a 
song  and  dance  artist  to  death.  Anywhere  off'n  the 
variety  stage,  unless  it  was  at  a  Fourth  Ward  chowder 
party,  it  would  have  drawn  a  crowd.  Perhaps  you 
can  throw  up  a  view  of  a  pin-head  check  in  brown  and 
white,  blocked  off  into  four-inch  squares  with  red  and 
green  lines;  a  double  breasted  coat  with  scalloped 
cuffs  on  the  sleeves,  and  silk  faced  lapels;  a  pink  and 
white  shirt  striped  like  an  awnin';  a  spotted  butterfly 
tie;  yellow  shoes  in  the  latest  oleomargarin  tint;  and 
a  caffy-o-lay  bean  pot  derby  with  a  half-inch  brim  to 
finish  off  the  picture.  It  was  a  sizzler,  all  right. 

For  a  minute  I  stands  there  with  my  mouth  open 
and  my  eyes  bugged,  takin'  in  the  details.  If  I  could, 
I  would  have  skipped  without  sayin'  a  word,  for  I 

267 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

see  I'd  butted  in  on  somethin'  that  was  sacred  and 
secret  But  Swifty's  heard  me  come  in,  and  he's  turned 
around  waitin'  for  me  to  give  a  verdict.  Not  wantin' 
to  hurt  his  feelin's,  I  has  to  go  careful. 

"Swifty,"  says  I,  "is  that  you?" 

He  only  grins  kind  of  foolish,  sticks  his  chin  out, 
and  saws  his  neck  against  his  high  collar,  like  a  cow 
usin'  a  scratchin'  post. 

"  Blamed  if  I  didn't  take  you  for  Henry  Dixey, 
first  shot,"  says  I,  walkin'  around  and  gettin'  a  new 
angle.  "  Gee !  but  that's  a  swell  outfit !  " 

"  Think  so?  "  says  he.    "  Will  it  make  'em  sit  up?  " 

"  Will  it!  "  says  I.  "  Why,  you'll  have  'em  on  their 
toes." 

I  didn't  know  how  far  I  could  go  on  that  line  with- 
out givin'  him  a  grouch;  but  he  seems  to  like  it,  so 
I  tears  off  some  more  of  the  same. 

"  Swifty,"  says  I,  "  you've  got  a  bunch  of  tiger  lilies 
lookin'  like  a  faded  tea  rose.  You've  got  a  get-up 
there  that  would  win  out  at  a  Cakewalk,  and  if  you'll 
take  it  over  to  Third-ave.  Sunday  afternoon  you'll  be 
the  best  bet  on  the  board." 

"  Honest  ?  "  says  he,  grinnin'  way  back  to  his  ears. 
"  I  was  after  somethin'  a  little  fancy,  I'll  own  up." 

"  Well,  you  got  it,"  says  I.  "  Where'd  you  have  it 
built?" 

"  Over  the  bridge,"  says  he. 
268 


WHEN    SWIFTY   WAS    GOING    SOME 

Say,  it's  a  wonder  some  of  them  South  Brooklyn 
cloth  carpenters  don't  get  the  blind  staggers,  turnin' 
out  clothes  like  that ;  ain't  it  ? 

"Must  be  some  special  occasion?"  says  I. 

"D'jer  think  I'd  be  blowin'  myself  like  this  if  it 
wa'n't?  "  says  he.  "  You  bet,  it's  extra  special." 

"  With  a  skirt  in  the  background  ?  "  says  I. 

"  Uh-huh,"  says  he,  springin'  another  grin. 

"  Naughty,  naughty !  "  says  I. 

"  Ahr,  say,"  says  he,  tryin'  to  look  peevish,  "  you 
oughter  know  better'n  that!  You  never  heard  of 
me  chasin'  the  Lizzies  yet,  did  you?  This  is  a  real 
lady, — nice  and  classy,  see  ?  " 

"  Some  one  on  Fifth-ave.  ? "  says  I,  unwindin'  a 
little  string.  But  he  whirls  round  like  I'd  jabbed  him 
with  a  pin. 

"  Who  tipped  you  off  U  that  ?  "  says  he. 

"  Guessed  it  by  the  clothes,"  says  I. 

That  simmers  him  down,  and  I  could  see  he  wanted 
to  be  confidential  the  worst  way.  He  wouldn't  let  go 
of  her  name;  but  I  gathers  it's  some  one  he's  known 
for  quite  a  spell,  and  that  she's  sent  him  a  special 
invite  for  this  evenin'. 

"Asks  me  to  call  around,  see  ?  "  says  he.  "  Now,  I 
put  it  up  to  you,  Shorty,  don't  that  look  like  I  got 
some  standin'  with  her?  " 

"  She  must  think  pretty  well  of  you,  that's  a  fact," 
269 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

says  I,  "  and  I  judge  that  you're  willin'  to  be  her 
honey  boy.  Ain't  got  the  ring  in  your  vest  pocket, 
have  you  ?  " 

"  Maybe  that  ain't  so  much  of  a  joke  as  you  think," 
says  he,  settin'  the  bean  pod  lid  a  little  more  on  one 
side. 

"  Z-z-z-ipp !  "  says  I.  "  That's  goin'  some !  Well, 
well,  but  you  are  a  cute  one,  Swifty.  Why,  I  never 
suspicioned  such  a  thing.  Luck  to  you,  my  lad,  luck 
to  you !  "  and  I  pats  him  on  the  back.  "  I  don't  know 
what  chances  you  had  before ;  but  in  that  rig  you  can't 
lose." 

"  I  guess  it  helps,"  says  he,  twistin'  his  neck  to  get 
a  back  view. 

He  was  puttin'  on  the  last  touches  when  I  left. 
Course,  I  was  some  stunned,  specially  by  the  Fifth- 
ave.  part  of  it.  But  then,  it's  a  long  street,  and  it's 
gettin'  so  now  that  all  kinds  lives  on  it. 

I  was  a  little  behind  sched.  when  I  gets  to  Sherry's, 
where  I  was  to  pick  up  Sadie  and  Mrs.  Purdy  Pell; 
but  at  that  it  was  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  before  they 
gets  the  tourin'  car  called  up  and  we're  all  tucked 
away  inside.  It  don't  take  us  long  to  cover  the  dis- 
tance, though,  and  at  twenty  to  nine  we  hauls  up  at 
Miss  Belter's  number.  I  was  just  goin'  to  pile  out 
when  I  gets  a  glimpse  of  a  pair  of  bright  yellow  shoes 
carryin'  a  human  checker  board. 

270 


WHEN    SWIFTY   WAS    GOING   SOME 

"S-s-s-sh!"  says  I  to  the  ladies.  "Wait  up  a 
second  till  we  see  where  he  goes." 

"  Why,  who  is  it  ?  "  says  Sadie. 

"  Swifty  Joe,"  says  I.  "  You  might  not  think  it 
from  the  rainbow  uniform,  but  it's  him.  That's  the 
way  he  dresses  the  part  when  he  starts  out  to  kneel 
to  his  lady  love." 

"  Really ! "  says  Mrs.  Pell.  "  Is  he  going  to  do 
that?" 

"  Got  it  straight  from  him,"  says  I.  "  There !  he's 
worked  his  courage  up.  Now  he  takes  the  plunge." 

"  Why !  "  says  Sadie,  "  that  is  Miss  Belter's  number 
he's  going  into." 

"  She  don't  live  on  all  five  floors,  does  she  ? " 
says  I. 

"  No ;  but  it's  odd,  just  the  same,"  says  she. 

I  thought  so  myself ;  so  I  gives  'em  the  whole  story 
of  how  I  come  to  know  about  what  he  was  up  to. 
By  that  time  he  was  climbing  the  stairs,  and  as  soon 
as  we  finds  the  right  door  I  forgets  all  about  Swifty 
in  sizin'  up  Cornelia  Ann.  . 

Say,  what  a  difference  a  little  of  the  right  kind  of 
dry  goods  will  make  in  a  girl,  won't  it?  The  last  I 
saw  of  Cornie  she  was  wearin'  a  skirt  that  sagged  in 
the  back,  a  punky  lid  that  might  have  come  off  the 
top  of  an  ash  can,  and  shoes  that  had  run  over  at 
the  heel. 

271 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

But  prosperity  had  sure  blown  her  way,  and  she'd 
bought  a  wardrobe  to  suit  the  times.  Not  that  she'd 
gone  and  loaded  herself  down  like  she  was  a  window 
display.  It  was  just  a  cucumber  green  sort  of  cheese 
cloth  that  floated  around  her,  and  there  wa'n't  a  frill 
on  it  except  some  silvery  braid  where  the  square  hole 
had  been  chopped  out  to  let  her  head  and  part  of  her 
shoulders  through.  But  at  that  it  didn't  need  any 
Paris  tag. 

And  say,  I'd  always  had  an  idea  that  Cornelia  Ann 
was  rated  about  third  row  back.  Seein'  the  way  she 
showed  up  there,  though,  with  all  that  cinnamon  col- 
oured hair  of  hers  piled  on  top  of  her  head,  and  her  big 
eyes  glistenin',  I  had  to  revise  the  frame  up.  It  didn't 
take  me  long  to  find  out  she'd  shook  the  shrinkin' 
violet  game,  too.  She  steps  up  and  gives  us  the  glad 
hand  and  the  gurgly  jolly  just  as  if  she'd  been  doin' 
it  all  her  life. 

It  wa'n't  any  cheap  hang-out  that  Cornie  has  tacked 
her  name  plate  on,  either.  There  was  expensive  rugs 
on  the  floor,  and  brass  lamps  hangin'  from  the  ceilin', 
and  pieces  of  tin  armor  hung  around  on  the  walls, 
with  nary  a  sign  of  an  oil  stove  or  a  foldin'  bed. 

A  lot  of  folks  was  already  on  the  ground.  They 
was  swells  too,  and  they  was  floatin'  around  so  thick 
that  it  was  two  or  three  minutes  before  I  gets  a  view 
of  what  was  sittin*  under  the  big  yellow  sik  lamp 

273 


WHEN    SWIFTY   WAS    GOING   SOME 

shade  in  the  corner.  Say,  who  do  you  guess  ?  Swifty 
Joe !  Honest,  for  a  minute  I  thought  I  must  be  havin' 
a  nerve  spasm  and  seein'  things  that  wa'n't  so.  But 
it  was  him,  all  right;  big  as  life,  and  lookin'  as 
prominent  as  a  soap  ad.  on  the  back  cover  of  a  maga 
zine. 

There  was  plenty  of  shady  places  in  the  room  that 
he  might  have  picked,  but  he  has  hunted  out  the  bright 
spot.  He's  sittin'  on  one  of  these  funny  cross  legged 
Roman  stools,  with  his  toes  turned  in,  and  them  grid- 
iron pants  pulled  up  to  show  about  five  inches  of 
MacGregor  plaid  socks.  And  he  has  a  satisfied  look 
on  his  face  that  I  couldn't  account  for  no  way. 

Course,  I  thinks  right  off  that  he's  broke  into  the 
wrong  ranch  and  is  waitin'  for  some  one  to  come  and 
show  him  the  way  out.  And  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  I 
begins  to  remember  things.  You  know,  it  was  Swifty 
that  Cornelia  Ann  used  to  get  to  pose  for  her  when 
she  had  the  top  floor  back  in  our  building.  She  made 
an  embossed  clay  picture  of  him  that  Joe  used  to  gaze 
at  by  the  hour.  And  once  he  showed  me  her  photo 
that  she'd  given  him.  Then  there  was  the  special 
invite  he'd  been  tellin'  me  about.  Not  bein'  used  to 
gettin'  such  things,  he'd  mistook  that  card  to  her  studio 
openin'  as  a  sort  of  private  billy  ducks,  and  he'd  built 
up  a  dream  about  him  and  her  havin'  a  hand-holdin' 
session  all  to  themselves. 

273 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

"  Great  cats !  "  thinks  I.  "  Can  it  be  Cornelia  Ann 
he's  gone  on  ?  " 

Well,  all  you  had  to  do  to  get  the  answer  was  to 
watch  Swifty  follow  her  around  with  his  eyes.  You'd 
thought,  findin'  himself  in  a  bunch  of  top-notchers  like 
that,  and  rigged  out  the  way  he  was,  he'd  been  feelin' 
like  a  green  strawb'ry  in  the  bottom  of  the  basket. 
But  nothin'  of  that  kind  had  leaked  through  his  thick 
skull.  Cornie  was  there,  and  he  was  there,  dressed 
accordin'  to  his  own  designs,  and  he  was  contented 
and  happy  as  a  turtle  on  a  log,  believin'  the  rest  of 
us  had  only  butted  in. 

I  was  feelin'  all  cut  up  over  his  break,  and  tryin' 
to  guess  how  Cornelia  was  standin'  it,  when  she  floats 
up  to  me  and  says: 

"  Wasn't  it  sweet  of  Mr.  Gallagher  to  come  ?  Have 
you  seen  him?  " 

"  Seen  him !  "  says  I.  "  You  don't  notice  any  band- 
age over  my  eyes,  do  you?  Notice  the  get  up.  Why, 
he  looks  like  a  section  of  a  billboard." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mind  his  clothes  a  bit,"  says  she.  "  I 
think  he's  real  picturesque.  Besides,  I  haven't  forgotten 
that  he  used  to  pose  for  me  when  hiring  models  meant 
going  without  meals.  I  wish  you  would  see  that  he 
doesn't  get  lonesome  before  I  have  a  chance  to  speak 
to  him  again." 


274 


WHEN   SWIFTY   WAS   GOING   SOME 

"  He  don't  look  like  he  needed  any  chirkin'  up," 
says  I ;  "  but  I'll  go  give  him  the  howdy." 

So  I  trots  over  to  the  yellow  shade  and  ranges  my- 
self up  in  front  of  him.  "  You  might's  well  own  up, 
Swifty,"  says  I.  "  Is  Cornie  the  one  ?  " 

"  Uh-huh,"  says  he. 

"  Told  her  about  it  yet  ?  "  says  I. 

"Ahr,  chee !  "  says  he.    "  Give  a  guy  a  chance." 

"  Sure,"  says  I.    "  But  go  slow,  Joey,  go  slow." 

I  don't  know  how  it  happened,  for  all  I  told  about 
it  was  Sadie  and  Mrs.  Purdy  Pell;  but  it  wa'n't  long 
before  everyone  in  the  joint  was  next  to  Swifty,  and 
was  pipin'  him  off.  They  all  has  to  be  introduced 
and  make  a  try  at  gettin'  him  to  talk.  For  awhile 
he  has  the  time  of  his  life.  Mostly  he  just  grins ;  but 
now  and  then  he  throws  in  an  "Ahr,  chee ! "  that 
knocks  'em  silly. 

The  only  one  that  don't  fall  for  what's  up  is  Cor- 
nelia Ann.  She  gets  him  to  help  her  pass  out  the 
teacups  and  the  cake,  and  tells  everyone  about  how 
'Swifty  helped  her  out  on  the  model  business  when 
she  was  livin'  on  pickled  pigs'  feet  and  crackers. 
Fin'lly  folks  begins  to  dig  out  their  wraps  and  come 
up  to  tell  her  how  they'd  had  a  bully  time.  But  Joe 
never  makes  a  move. 

Sadie  and  Mrs,   Pell  wa'n't  in  any  hurr:1;    either, 


275 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

and  the  first  thing  I  knows  there's  only  the  five  of 
us  left.  I  see  Sadie  lookin'  from  Joe  to  Cornie,  and 
then  passin'  Mrs.  Pell  the  smile.  Cornelia  Ann  sees 
it  too,  and  she  has  a  synopsis  of  the  precedin'  chap- 
ters all  in  a  minute.  But  she  don't  get  flustered  a  bit. 
She  sails  over  to  the  coat  room,  gets  Swifty's  lid, 
and  comes  luggin'  it  out. 

"  I'm  awfully  glad  you  came,  Mr.  Gallagher,"  says 
she,  handin'  out  the  bean  pot,  "  and  I  hope  to  see 
you  again  when  I  have  another  reception — next  year." 

"  Eh  ? "  says  Swifty,  like  he  was  wakin'  up  from 
a  dream.  "  Next  year !  Why,  I  thought  that — " 

"  Yes,  but  you  shouldn't,"  says  she.    "  Good  night." 

Then  he  sees  the  hat,  and  a  light  breaks.  He  grabs 
the  lid  and  makes  a  dash  for  the  door. 

"  Isn't  he  odd  ?  "  says  Cornelia. 

Well  say,  I  didn't  know  whether  I'd  get  word  that 
night  that  Swifty  had  jumped  off  the  bridge,  or  had 
gone  back  to  the  fusel  oil.  He  didn't  do  either  one, 
though ;  but  when  he  shows  up  at  the  Studio  next 
mornin'  he  was  wearin'  his  old  clothes,  and  his  face 
looks  like  he  was  foreman  of  a  lemon  grove. 

"Ah,  brace  up,  Swifty,"  says  I.    "  There's  others." 

He  just  shakes  his  head  and  sighs,  and  goes  off  into 
a  corner  as  if  he  wanted  to  die  slow  and  lingerin'. 

Then  Saturday  afternoon,  when  it  turns  off  so 
warm  and  we  begins  the  noon  shut  down,  I  thinks  I'll 

276 


WHEN    SWIFTY   WAS    GOING   SOME 

take  a  little  run  down  to  Coney  and  hear  the  frank- 
furters bark.  I  was  watchin'  'em  load  the  boys  and 
girls  into  a  roller  coaster,  when  along  comes  a  car 
that  has  something  familiar  in  it.  Here's  Swifty, 
wearin'  his  brass  band  suit,  a  cigar  stickin'  out  of 
one  corner  of  his  mouth,  and  an  arm  around  a  fluffy 
haired  Flossie  girl  that  was  chewin'  gum  and  wearin' 
a  fruit  basket  hat.  They  was  lookin'  happy. 

"Say,  Swifty,"  I  sings  out,  "don't  forget  about 
Cornie." 

"Ahr,  chee ! "  says  he,  and  off  they  goes  down  the 
chute  for  another  ten-cent  ride. 

But  say,  I'm  glad  all  them  South  Brooklyn  art 
clothes  ain't  goin'  to  be  wasted. 


277 


XVIII 
PLAYING  WILBUR  TO  SHOW 

IT'S  all  right  You  can  put  the  Teddy  sign  on 
anything  you  read  in  the  papers  about  matrimony's 
bein'  a  lost  art,  and  collectin'  affinities  bein'  the  latest 
fad ;  for  the  plain,  straight,  old,  love-honour-and-cher- 
ish  business  is  still  in  the  ring.  I  have  Pinckney's 
word  for  it,  and  Pinckney  ought  to  know.  Oh,  yes, 
he's  an  authority  now.  Sure,  it  was  Miss  Gerty,  the 
twin  tamer.  And  say,  what  do  you  suppose  they  did 
with  that  gift  pair  of  terrors,  Jack  and  Jill,  while 
they  was  makin'  the  weddin'  tour?  Took  'em  along. 
Honest,  they  travels  for  ten  weeks  with  two  kids,  five 
trunks,  and  a  couple  of  maids. 

"  You  don't  look  like  no  honeymoon  couple,"  says 
I,  when  I  meets  'em  in  Jersey  City.  "  I'd  take  you 
for  an  explorin'  party." 

"  We  are,"  says  Pinckney,  grinnin'.  "  We've  been 
explorin'  the  western  part  of  the  United  States.  We 
have  discovered  Colorado  Springs,  the  Yosemite,  and 
a  lot  more  very  interesting  places,  all  over  again." 

"  You'll  be  makin'  a  new  map,  I  expect,"  says  I. 

"  It  would  be  new  to  most  New  Yorkers,"  says  he. 
278 


PLAYING   WILBUR   TO  SHOW 

And  I've  been  tryin'  ever  since  to  figure  out  whether 
or  no  that's  a  knock.  Now  and  then  I  has  a  sus- 
picion that  Pinckney's  acquired  some  new  bug  since 
he's  been  out  through  the  alfalfa  belt;  but  maybe  his 
idea  of  the  West's  bein'  such  a  great  place  only  comes 
from  the  fact  that  Gerty  was  produced  there.  Perhaps 
it's  all  he  says  too;  but  I  notice  he  seems  mighty  glad 
to  get  back  to  Main-st,  N.  Y.  You'd  thought  so  if 
you'd  seen  the  way  he  trails  me  around  over  town  the 
first  day  after  he  lands.  We  was  on  the  go  from  noon 
until  one  A.  M.,  and  his  cab  bill  must  have  split  a 
twenty  up  fine. 

What  tickles  me,  though,  is  that  he's  the  same  old 
Pinckney,  only  more  so.  Bein'  married  don't  seem 
to  weigh  no  heavier  on  his  mind  than  joinin'  another 
club.  So,  instead  of  me  losin'  track  of  him  altogether, 
he  shows  up  here  at  the  Studio  oftener  than  before. 
And  that's  how  it  was  he  happens  to  be  on  hand  when 
this  overgrown  party  from  the  ham  orchard  blows 
in. 

Just  at  the  minute,  though,  Pinckney  was  back  in 
the  dressin'  room,  climbin'  into  his  frock  coat  after 
our  little  half-hour  session  on  the  mat;  so  Swifty  Joe 
and  me  was  the  reception  committee. 

As  the  door  opens  I  looks  up  to  see  about  seven 
foot  of  cinnamon  brown  plaid  cloth, — a  little  the 
homeliest  stuff  I  ever  see  used  for  clothes, — a  red  and 

279 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

green  necktie,  a  face  the  colour  of  a  ripe  tomato,  and 
one  of  these  buckskin  tinted  felt  hats  on  top  of  that. 
Measurin'  from  the  peak  of  the  Stetson  to  the  heels 
of  his  No.  14  Cinderellas,  he  must  have  been  some 
under  ninety  inches,  but  not  much.  And  he  has  all 
the  grace  of  a  water  tower.  Whoever  tried  to  build 
that  suit  for  him  must  have  got  desperate  and  cut  it 
out  with  their  eyes  shut;  for  it  fit  him  only  in  spots, 
and  them  not  very  near  together.  But  what  can  you 
do  with  a  pair  of  knock  knees  and  shoulders  that  slope 
like  a  hip  roof? 

Not  expectin'  any  freaks  that  day,  and  bein'  too 
stunned  to  make  any  crack  on  our  own  hook,  me  and 
Swifty  does  the  silent  gawp,  and  waits  to  see  if  it  can 
talk.  For  a  minute  he  looks  like  he  can't.  He  just 
stands  here  with  his  mouth  half  open,  grinnin'  kind 
of  sheepish  and  good  natured,  as  if  we  could  tell  what 
he  wanted  just  by  his  looks.  Fin'lly  I  breaks  the 
spell. 

"  Hello,  Sport,"  says  I.  "  If  you  see  any  dust  on 
top  of  that  chandelier,  don't  mention  it." 

He  don't  make  any  reply  to  that,  just  grins  a  little 
wider;  so  I  gives  him  a  new  deal. 

"You'll  find  Huber's  museum  down  on  I4th-st," 
says  I.  "  Or  have  you  got  a  Bowery  engage- 
ment?" 

This  seems  to  twist  him  up  still  more;  but  it  pulls 
280 


PLAYING   WILBUR   TO  SHOW 

the  cork.  "  Excuse  me,  friends,"  says  he ;  "  but  I'm 
tryin'  to  round  up  an  eatin'  house  that  used  to  be 
hereabouts." 

"  Eatin'  house  ?  "  says  I.  "  If  you  mean  the  fried 
egg  parlour  that  was  on  the  ground  floor,  that  went  out 
of  business  months  ago.  But  there's  lots  more  just 
as  good  around  on  Sixth-ave.,  and  some  that  carry 
stock  enough  to  fill  you  up  part  way,  I  guess." 

"  I  wa'n't  lookin'  to  grub  up  just  yet,"  says  he.  "  I 
was  huntin'  for — for  some  one  that  worked  there." 

And  say,  you  wouldn't  have  thought  anyone  with 
a  natural  sunset  colour  like  that  could  lay  on  a  blush. 
But  he  does,  and  it's  like  throwin'  the  red  calcium  on 
a  brick  wall. 

"Oh,  tush,  tush!"  says  I.  "You  don't  mean  to 
tell  me  a  man  of  your  size  is  trailin'  some  Lizzie 
Maud?" 

He  cants  his  head  on  one  side,  pulls  out  a  blue  silk 
handkerchief,  and  begins  to  wind  it  around  his  fore 
ringer,  like  a  bashful  kid  that's  been  caught  passin' 
a  note  in  school. 

"  Her — her  name's  Zylphina,"  says  he, — "  Zylphina 
Beck." 

"  Gee !  "  says  I.  "  Sounds  like  a  new  kind  of  music 
box.  No  relation,  I  hope?" 

"  Not  yet,"  says  he,  swingin'  his  shoulders ;  "  but 
we've  swapped  rings." 

281 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

"  Of  all  the  cut-tips !  "  says  I.  "  And  just  what 
part  of  the  plowed  fields  do  you  and  Zylphina  hail 
from?" 

"Why,  I'm  from  Hoxie,"  says  he,  as  though  that 
told  the  whole  story. 

"  Do  tell !  "  says  I.  "  Is  that  a  flag  station  or  just 
a  four  corners  ?  Somewhere  in  Ohio,  ain't  it  ?  " 

"  Sheridan  County,  Kansas,"  says  he. 

"  Well,  well ! "  says  I.  "  Now  I  can  account  for 
your  size.  Have  to  grow  tall  out  there,  don't  you, 
so's  not  to  get  lost  in  the  wheat  patch  ? " 

Say,  for  a  josh  consumer,  he  was  the  easiest  ever. 
All  he  does  is  stand  there  and  grin,  like  he  was  the 
weak  end  of  a  variety  team.  But  it  seems  a  shame 
to  crowd  a  willin'  performer;  so  I  was  just  tellin' 
him  he'd  better  go  out  and  hunt  up  a  city  directory 
in  some  drug  store,  when  Pinckney  shows  up,  lookin' 
interested. 

"  There !  "  says  I.  "  Here's  a  man  now  that'll  lead 
you  straight  to  Zylphina  in  no  time.  Pinckney,  let 
me  make  you  acquainted  with  Mister — er " 

"  Cobb,"  says  the  Hoxie  gent,  "  Wilbur  Cobb." 

"  From  out  West,"  I  puts  in,  givin'  Pinckney  the 
nudge.  "  He's  yours." 

It  ain't  often  I  has  a  chance  to  unload  anything 
like  that  on  Pinckney,  so  I  rubs  it  in.  The  thoughts 
of  him  towin'  around  town  a  human  extension  like 

282 


PLAYING   WILBUR   TO  SHOW 

this  Wilbur  strikes  Swifty  Joe  so  hard  that  he  most 
has  a  chokin'  fit 

But  you  never  know  what  turn  Pinckney's  goin' 
to  give  to  a  jolly.  He  don't  even  crack  a  smile,  but 
reaches  up  and  hands  Mr.  Cobb  the  cordial  shake, 
just  as  though  he'd  been  a  pattern  sized  gent  dressed 
accordin'  to  the  new  fall  styles. 

"Ah !  "  says  Pinckney.  "  I'm  very  glad  to  meet 
anyone  from  the  West.  What  State,  Mr.  Cobb  ?  " 

And  inside  of  two  minutes  he's  gettin'  all  the  details 
of  this  Zylphina  hunt,  from  the  ground  up,  includin' 
an  outline  of  Wilbur's  past  life. 

Seems  that  Wilbur'd  got  his  first  start  in  Maine; 
but  'way  back  before  he  could  remember  much  his 
folks  had  moved  to  Kansas  on  a  homestead.  Then, 
when  Wilbur  tossled  out,  he  takes  up  a  quarter  sec- 
tion near  Hoxie,  and  goes  to  corn  farmin'  for  himself, 
raisin'  a  few  hogs  as  a  side  line.  Barrin'  bein'  caught 
in  a  cyclone  or  two,  and  gettin'  elected  junior  kazook 
of  the  Sheridan  County  Grange,  nothin'  much  hap- 
pened to  Wilbur,  until  one  day  he  took  a  car  ride  as 
far  west  as  Colby  Junction. 

That's  where  he  meets  up  with  Zylphina.  She  was 
jugglin'  stop  over  rations  at  the  railroad  lunch  counter. 
Men  must  have  been  mighty  scarce  around  the  junc- 
tion, or  else  she  wants  the  most  she  can  get  for  the 
money;  for,  as  she  passes  Wilbur  a  hunk  of  petrified 

283 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

pie  and  draws  him  one  muddy,  with  two  lumps  on  the 
saucer,  she  throws  in  a  smile  that  makes  him  feel  like 
he'd  stepped  on  a  live  third  rail. 

Accordin'  to  his  tell,  he  must  have  hung  around 
that  counter  all  day,  eatin'  through  the  pie  list  from 
top  to  bottom  and  back  again,  until  it's  a  wonder 
his  system  ever  got  over  the  shock.  But  Zylphina 
keeps  tollin'  him  on  with  googoo  eyes  and  giggles, 
sayin'  how  it  does  her  good  to  see  a  man  with  a  nice, 
hearty  appetite,  and  before  it  come  time  for  him  to 
take  the  night  train  back  they'd  got  real  well  ac- 
quainted. He  finds  out  her  first  name,  and  how  she's 
been  a  whole  orphan  since  she  was  goin'  on  ten. 

After  that  Wilbur  makes  the  trip  to  Colby  Junction 
reg'lar  every  Sunday,  and  they'd  got  to  the  point  of 
talkin'  about  settin'  the  day  when  she  was  to  become 
Mrs.  Cobb,  when  Zylphina  gets  word  that  an  aunt  of 
hers  that  kept  a  boardin'  house  in  Fall  River,  Massa- 
chusetts, wants  her  to  come  on  East  right  away. 
Aunty  has  some  kind  of  heart  trouble  that  may  finish 
her  any  minute,  and,  as  Zylphina  was  the  nearest  re- 
lation she  had,  there  was  a  show  of  her  bein'  heiress 
to  the  whole  joint. 

Course,  Zylphina  thinks  she  ought  to  tear  herself 
loose  from  the  pie  counter;  but  before  she  quits  the 
junction  her  and  Wilbur  takes  one  last  buggy  ride, 
with  the  reins  wound  around  the  whip  socket  most 

284 


PLAYING   WILBUR   TO  SHOW 

of  the  way.  She  weeps  on  Wilbur's  shirt  front,  and 
says  no  matter  how  far  off  she  is,  or  how  long  she 
has  to  wait  for  him  to  come,  she'll  always  be  his'n 
on  demand.  And  Wilbur  says  that  just  as  soon  as 
he  can  make  the  corn  and  hog  vineyard  hump  itself 
a  little  more,  he'll  come. 

So  Zylphina  packs  a  shoe  box  full  of  fried  chicken, 
blows  two  months'  wages  into  a  yard  of  yellow  rail- 
road ticket,  and  starts  toward  the  cotton  mills.  It's 
a  couple  of  months  before  Wilbur  gets  any  letter,  and 
then  it  turns  out  to  be  a  hard  luck  tale,  at  that. 
Zylphina  has  found  out  what  a  lime  tastes  like.  She's 
discovered  that  the  Fall  River  aunt  hasn't  anything 
more  the  matter  with  her  heart  than  the  average 
landlady,  and  that  what  she's  fell  heiress  to  is  only  a 
chance  to  work  eighteen  hours  a  day  for  her  board. 
So  she's  disinherited  herself  and  is  about  to  make  a 
bold  jump  for  New  York,  which  she  liked  the  looks 
of  as  she  came  through,  and  she'll  write  more  later  on. 

It  was  later — about  six  months.  Zylphina  says  she's 
happy,  and  hopes  Wilbur  is  the  same.  She's  got  a 
real  elegant  job  as  cashier  in  a  high-toned,  twenty- 
five  cent,  reg'lar-meal  establishment,  and  all  in  the 
world  she  has  to  do  is  to  sit  behind  a  wire  screen  and 
make  change.  It's  different  from  wearin'  an  apron, 
and  the  gents  what  takes  their  food  there  steady  treats 
her  like  a  perfect  lady.  New  York  is  a  big  place; 

285 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

but  she's  getting  so  she  knows  her  way  around  quite 
well  now,  and  it  would  seem  funny  to  go  back  to  a 
little  one-horse  burg  like  Colby. 

And  that's  all.  Nothin'  about  her  bein'  Wilbur's 
on  demand,  or  anything  of  that  kind.  Course,  it's 
an  antique  old  yarn;  but  it  was  all  fresh  to  Wilbur. 
Not  bein'  much  of  a  letter  writer,  he  keeps  on  feedin' 
the  hogs  punctual,  and  hoein'  the  corn,  and  waitin' 
for  more  news.  But  there's  nothin'  doin'. 

"  Then,"  says  he,  "I  got  to  thinkin'  and  thinkin', 
and  this  fall,  being  as  how  I  was  coming  as  far  east 
as  Chicago  on  a  shipper's  pass,  I  reckons  I'd  better 
keep  right  on  here,  hunt  Zylphina  up,  and  take  her 
back  with  me." 

The  way  he  tells  it  was  real  earnest,  and  at  some 
points  them  whey  coloured  eyes  of  his  moistens  up 
good  an'  dewy;  but  he  finishes  strong  and  smilin'. 
You  wouldn't  guess,  though,  that  any  corn  fed  ro- 
mance like  that  would  stir  up  such  a  blood  as  Pinckney  ? 
A  few  months  back  he  wouldn't  have  listened  farther'n 
the  preamble;  but  now  he  couldn't  have  been  more 
interested  if  this  was  a  case  of  Romeo  Astor  and 
Juliet  Dupeyster. 

"  Shorty,"  says  he,  "  can't  we  do  something  to  help 
Mr.  Cobb  find  this  young  lady  ?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  it,"  says  I,  "  or  are  you  battin'  up 
a  josh?" 

286 


PLAYING   WILBUR   TO  SHOW 

He  means  it,  all  right.  He  spiels  off  a  lot  of  gush 
about  the  joy  of  unitin'  two  lovin'  hearts  that  has 
got  strayed;  so  I  asks  Wilbur  if  he  can  furnish  any 
description  of  Zylphina.  Sure,  he  can.  He  digs  up 
a  leather  wallet  from  his  inside  pocket  and  hands 
out  a  tintype  of  Miss  Beck,  one  of  these  portraits 
framed  in  pale  pink  paper,  taken  by  a  wagon  artist 
that  had  wandered  out  to  the  junction. 

Judgin'  by  the  picture,  Zylphina  must  have  been  a 
sure  enough  prairie-rose.  She's  wearin'  her  hair  loose 
over  her  shoulders,  and  a  genuine  Shy  Ann  hat,  one 
of  those  ten-inch  brims  with  the  front  pinned  back. 
The  pug  nose  and  the  big  mouth  wa'n't  just  after  the 
Venus  model;  but  it's  likely  she  looked  good  to  Wil- 
bur. I  takes  one  squint  and  hands  it  back. 

"  Nix,  never !  "  says  I.  "  I've  seen  lots  of  fairies 
on  42d-st,  but  none  lilce  that.  Put  it  back  over  your 
heart,  Wilbur,  and  try  an  ad.  in  the  lost  column." 

But  Pinckney  ain't  willin'  to  give  up  so  easy.  He 
says  how  Mr.  Cobb  has  come  more'n  a  thousand 
miles  on  this  tender  mission,  and  it's  up  to  us  to  do 
our  best  towards  helping  him  along.  I  couldn't  see 
just  where  we  was  let  into  this  affair  of  Wilbur's; 
but  as  Pinckney's  so  set  on  it,  I  begins  battin'  my 
head  for  a  way  of  takin'  up  the  trail. 

And  it's  wonderful  what  sleuth  work  you  can  do 
just  by  usin'  the  'phone  liberal.  First  I  calls  up  the 

287 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

agent  of  the  buildin',  and  finds  that  the  meal  fact'ry 
has  moved  over  to  Eighth-ave.  Then  I  gets  that 
number  and  brings  Zylphina's  old  boss  to  the  wire. 
Sure,  he  remembers  Miss  Beck.  No,  she  ain't  with 
him  now.  He  thinks  she  took  a  course  in  manicur- 
in',  and  one  of  the  girls  says  she  heard  of  her  doin" 
the  hand  holdin'  act  in  an  apartment  hotel  on  West 
35th-st  After  three  tries  we  has  Zylphina  herself 
on  the  'phone. 

"  Guess  who's  here,"  says  I. 

"That  you,  Roland?"  says  she. 

"Aw,  pickles ! "  says  I.  "  Set  the  calendar  back 
a  year  or  so,  and  then  come  again.  Ever  hear  of 
Wilbur,  from  Hoxie,  Kan.?  " 

Whether  it  was  a  squeal  or  a  snicker,  I  couldn't 
make  out ;  but  she  was  on.  As  I  couldn't  drag  Wilbur 
up  to  the  receiver,  I  has  to  carry  through  the  talk 
myself,  and  I  makes  a  date  for  him  to  meet  her  in 
front  of  the  hotel  at  six-thirty  that  evenin',  when  the 
day  shift  of  nail  polishers  goes  off  duty. 

"  Does  that  suit,  Wilbur?  "  says  I. 

Does  it?  You  never  saw  so  much  pure  joy  spread 
over  a  single  countenance  as  what  he  flashes  up. 
He  gives  me  a  grip  I  can  feel  yet,  and  the  grin  that 
opens  his  face  was  one  of  these  reg'lar  ear  connectors. 
Pinckney  was  tickled  too,  and  it's  all  I  can  do  to 
get  him  off  one  side  where  I  can  whisper  confidential. 

288 


PLAYING   WILBUR   TO  SHOW 

"  Maybe  it  ain't  struck  you  yet,"  says  I,  "  that 
Zylphina's  likely  to  have  changed  some  in  her  ideas 
as  to  what  a  honey  boy  looks  like.  Now  Wilbur's  all 
right  in  his  way ;  but  ain't  he  a  little  rugged  to  spring 
on  a  lady  manicure  that  hasn't  seen  him  for  some 
time?" 

And  when  Pinckney  comes  to  take  a  close  view, 
he  agrees  that  Mr.  Cobb  is  a  trifle  fuzzy.  "  But  we 
can  spruce  him  up,"  says  Pinckney.  "  There  are  four 
hours  to  do  it  in." 

"  Four  weeks  would  be  better,"  says  I ;  "  it's  consid- 
erable of  a  contract." 

That  don't  bother  Pinckney  any.  He's  got  nothing 
else  on  hand  for  the  afternoon,  and  he  can't  plan  any 
better  sport  than  improvin'  Wilbur's  looks  so  Zyl- 
phina's first  impression'll  be  a  good  one. 

He  begins  by  making  Wilbur  peel  the  cinnamon 
brown  costume,  drapin'  him  in  a  couple  of  bath  robes, 
while  Swifty  takes  the  suit  out  to  one  of  these  pants- 
pressed-while  you  wait  places.  When  it  comes  back 
with  creases  in  the  legs,  he  hustles  Wilbur  into  a  cab 
and  starts  for  a  barber  shop. 

Say,  I  don't  suppose  Cobb'll  ever  know  it;  but  if 
he'd  been  huntin'  for  expert  help  along  that  line,  he 
couldn't  have  tumbled  into  better  hands  than  he  did 
when  Pinckney  gets  interested  in  his  case.  When 
they  floats  in  again,  along  about  six  o'clock,  I  hardly 

289 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

knows  Wilbur  for  the  same  party.  He's  wearin'  a 
long  black  ulster  that  covers  up  most  of  the  plaid 
nightmare;  he's  shook  the  woolly  lid  for  a  fall  block 
derby,  he's  had  his  face  scraped  and  powdered,  and 
his  neck  ringlets  trimmed  up;  and  he  even  sports  a 
pair  of  yellow  kids  and  a  silver  headed  stick. 

"  Gosh ! "  says  I.  "  Looks  like  you'd  run  him 
through  a  finishing  machine.  Why,  he'll  have  Zyl- 
phina  after  him  with  a  net." 

"  Yes,"  says  Pinckney.    "  I  fancy  he'll  do  now." 

As  for  Wilbur,  he  only  looks  good  natured  and 
happy.  Course,  Pinckney  wants  to  go  along  with 
him,  to  see  that  it  all  turns  out  right;  and  he  counts 
me  in  too,  so  off  we  starts.  I  was  a  little  curious  to 
get  a  glimpse  of  Zylphina  myself,  and  watch  how 
stunned  she'd  be.  For  we  has  it  all  framed  up  how 
she'll  act.  Havin'  seen  the  tintype,  I  can't  get  it  out 
of  my  head  that  she's  still  wearin'  her  hair  loose  and 
looking  like  M'liss  in  the  first  act. 

"  Hope  she'll  be  on  time,"  says  I,  as  we  turns  the 
corner. 

There  was  more  or  less  folks  goin'  and  comin' 
from  the  ladies'  entrance;  but  no  girl  like  the  one 
we  was  lookin'  for.  So  we  fetches  up  in  a  bunch 
opposite  the  door  and  prepares  to  wait.  We  hadn't 
stood  there  a  minute,  before  there  comes  a  squeal  from 
behind,  and  some  one  says: 

290 


PLAYING   WILBUR   TO  SHOW 

"  Why,  Wilbur  Cobb !    Is  that  you  ?  " 

And  what  do  you  guess  shows  up?  There  at  the 
curb  is  a  big,  open  tourin'  car, — one  of  the  opulent, 
shiny  kind, — with  a  slick  looking  shuffer  in  front,  and, 
standin'  up  in  the  tonneau,  a  tart  little  lady  wearin' 
Broadway  clothes  that  was  right  up  to  the  minute, 
hair  done  into  breakfast  rolls  behind,  and  a  long  pink 
veil  streamin'  down  her  back.  Only  by  the  pug  nose 
and  the  mouth  could  I  guess  that  it  might  be  Zylphina. 
And  it  was. 

There  wa'n't  any  gettin'  away  from  the  fact  that 
she  was  a  little  jarred  at  seein'  Wilbur  lookin'  so 
cute;  but  that  was  nothin'  to  the  jolt  she  handed 
us.  Mr.  Cobb,  he  just  opens  his  mouth  and  gazes 
at  her  like  she  was  some  sort  of  an  exhibit.  And 
Pinckney,  who'd  been  expectin'  something  in  a  dollar- 
thirty-nine  shirtwaist  and  a  sagged  skirt,  is  down  and 
out.  It  didn't  take  me  more'n  a  minute  to  see  that 
if  Zylphina  has  got  to  the  stage  where  she  wears 
pony  jackets  and  rides  in  expensive  bubbles,  our  little 
pie  counter  romance  is  headed  for  the  ash  can. 

"  Stung  in  both  eyes ! "  says  I  under  my  breath, 
and  falls  back. 

"  Well,  well ! "  says  Zylphina,  holdin'  out  three 
fingers.  "  When  did  you  hit  Broadway,  Wilbur  ?  " 

It  was  all  up  to  Cobb  then.  He  drifts  up  to  the 
tonneau  and  gathers  in  the  fingers  dazed  like,  as 

291 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

if  he  was  walkin'  in  his  sleep;  but  he  gets  out  some- 
thin'  about  bein'  mighty  glad  to  see  her  again. 

Zylphina  sizes  him  up  kind  of  curious,  and  smiles. 
"  You  must  let  me  introduce  you  to  my  friend,"  says 
she.  "  Roland,  this  is  Mr.  Cobb,  from  Kansas." 

Mr.  Shuffer  grins  too,  as  he  swaps  grips  with 
Wilbur.  It  was  a  great  joke. 

"  He's  awfully  nice  to  me,  Roland  is,"  says  Zyl- 
phina, with  a  giggle.  "And  ain't  this  a  swell  car, 
though?  Roland  takes  me  to  my  boardin'  house  in  it 
'most  every  night.  But  how  are  the  corn  and  hogs 
doin',  Wilbur?" 

Say,  there  was  a  topic  Wilbur  was  up  on.  He 
throws  her  a  grateful  grin  and  proceeds  to  unlimber 
his  conversation  works.  He  tells  Zylphina  how  many 
acres  he  put  into  corn  last  spring,  how  much  it  shucked 
to  the  acre,  and  how  many  head  of  hogs  he  has  just 
sent  to  the  ham  and  lard  lab'ratory.  That  brand  of 
talk  sounds  kind  of  foolish  there  under  the  arc  lights ; 
but  Zylphina  pricks  up  her  ears. 

"  Ten  carloads  of  hogs !  "  says  she.  "  Is  that  a  kid, 
or  are  you  just  havin'  a  dream?" 

"  I  cal'late  it'll  be  twenty  next  fall,"  says  he,  fishin' 
for  somethin'  in  his  pocket.  "  Here's  the  packing 
house  receipts  for  the  ten,  anyway." 

"  Let's  see,"  says  she,  and  by  the  way  she  skins 
her  eye  over  them  documents  you  could  tell  that  Zyl- 

292 


PLAYING   WILBUR   TO  SHOW 

phina'd  seen  the  like  before.  Also  she  was  some- 
thin'  of  a  ready  reckoner. 

"  Oh,  Wilbur ! "  says  she,  makin'  a  flyin'  leap  and 
landin'  with  her  arms  around  his  neck.  "  I'm  yours, 
Wilbur,  I'm  yours!" 

And  Wilbur,  he  gathers  her  in. 

"  Roland,"  says  I,  steppin'  up  to  the  shuffer,  "  you 
can  crank  up.  Hoxie's  won  out  in  the  tenth." 


XIX 
AT  HOME  WITH  THE  DILLONS 

I  WAS  expectin'  to  put  in  a  couple  of  days  doin' 
the  sad  and  lonely,  Sadie  havin'  made  a  date  to  run 
out  to  Rockywold  for  the  week  end ;  but  Friday  night 
when  I'm  let  off  at  the  seventh  floor  of  the  Perzazzer 
— and  say,  no  matter  how  many  flights  up  home  is, 
there's  no  place  like  it — who  should  I  see  but  Sadie, 
just  takin'  off  her  hat.  Across  by  the  window  is  one 
of  the  chamber  maids,  leanin'  up  against  the  casing 
and  snifflin'  into  the  expensive  draperies. 

"  Well,  well !  "  says  I.  "  Is  this  a  rehearsal  for  a 
Hank  Ibsen  sprinkler  scene,  or  is  it  a  case  of  missin' 
jewels?" 

"  It's  nothing  of  the  sort,  Shorty,"  says  Sadie,  giv- 
ing me  the  shut-off  signal.  Then  she  turns  to  the 
girl  with  a  "  There,  there,  Nora !  Everything  will 
be  all  right.  And  I  will  be  around  Sunday  afternoon. 
Run  along  now,  and  don't  worry."  With  that  she 
leads  Nora  out  to  the  door  and  sends  her  away  with 
a  shoulder  pat. 

"  Who's  been  getting  friendly  with  the  help  now ; 
eh,  Sadie?"  says  I.  "And  what's  the  woe  about?" 


AT   HOME   WITH   THE   DILLONS 

Course  she  begins  at  the  wrong  end,  and  throws  in 
a  lot  of  details  that  only  lumbers  up  the  record;  but 
after  she's  been  talkin'  for  half  an  hour — and  Sadie 
can  separate  herself  from  a  lot  of  language  in  that 
time — I  gets  a  good  workin'  outline  of  this  domestic 
tragedy  that  has  left  damp  spots  on  our  window 
curtains. 

It  ain't  near  so  harrowin',  though,  as  you  might 
suspect.  Seems  that  Nora  has  the  weepin'  habit. 
That's  how  Sadie  come  to  remember  havin'  seen  her 
before.  Also  it  counts  for  Nora's  shiftin'  so  often. 
Folks  like  Mrs.  Purdy  Pell  and  the  Twombley-Cranes 
can't  keep  a  girl  around  that's  liable  to  weep  into 
the  soup  or  on  the  card  tray.  If  it  wa'n't  for  that, 
Nora'd  been  all  right;  for  she's  a  neat  lookin'  girl, 
handy  and  willin', — one  of  these  slim,  rosy  cheeked, 
black  haired,  North  of  Ireland  kind,  that  can  get 
big  wages,  when  they  have  the  sense,  which  ain't 
often. 

Well,  she'd  changed  around  until  she  lands  here 
in  the  fresh  linen  department,  workin'  reg'lar  twelve- 
hour  shifts,  one  afternoon  off  a  week,  and  a  four-by- 

.** 

six  room  up  under  the  copper  roof,  with  all  the  chance 
in  the  world  to  weep  and  no  one  to  pay  any  attention 
to  her,  until  Sadie  catches  her  at  it.  Trust  Sadie ! 

When  she  finds  Nora  leakin'  her  troubles  out  over 
an  armful  of  clean  towels,  she  drags  her  in  here  and 

295 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

asks  for  the  awful  facts.  Then  comes  the  fam'ly  his- 
tory of  the  Dillons,  beginnin'  on  the  old  rent  at  Bally- 
shannon  and  endin'  in  a  five-room  flat  on  Double 
Fifth-ave.  When  she  comes  to  mentionin'  Larry  Dil- 
lon, I  pricks  up  my  ears. 

"  What !  Not  the  old  flannel  mouth  that's  chopped 
tickets  at  the  33d-st.  station  ever  since  the  L  was 
built?"  says  I. 

"  He's  been  discharged,"  says  Sadie.  "  Did  you 
know  him  ?  " 

Did  I  know  Larry?  Could  anyone  live  in  this  burg 
as  long  as  I  have,  without  gettin'  acquainted  with  that 
Old  Country  face,  or  learnin'  by  heart  his  "  Ha-a-a-ar- 
lem  thr-r-rain !  Ha-a-a-ar-lem !  "  ?  There's  other  old 
timers  that  has  the  brogue,  but  never  a  one  could 
touch  Larry.  A  purple  faced,  grumpy  old  pirate,  with 
a  disposition  as  cheerful  as  a  man  waitin'  his  turn  at 
the  dentist's,  and  a  heart  as  big  as  a  ham,  he  couldn't 
speak  a  civil  word  if  he  tried ;  but  he  was  always  ready 
to  hand  over  half  his  lunch  to  any  whimperin'  newsy 
that  came  along,  and  he's  lent  out  more  nickels  that 
he'll  ever  see  again. 

But  about  the  other  Dillons,  I  got  my  first  news 
from  Sadie.  There  was  four  of  'em,  besides  Nora. 
One  was  Tom,  who  had  a  fine  steady  job,  drivin'  a 
coal  cart  for  the  Consolidated.  A  credit  to  the  family, 
Tom  was ;  havln'  a  wife  and  six  kids  of  his  own,  be- 

296 


AT   HUME   WITH    THE   DILLONS 

sides  votin'  the  straight  Tammany  ticket  since  he  was 
nineteen.  Next  there  was  Maggie,  whose  man  was 
on  the  stage, — shiftin'  scenery.  Then  there  was  Kate, 
the  lady  sales  person,  who  lived  with  the  old  folks. 
And  last  there  was  Aloysius,  the  stray;  and  wherever 
he  was,  Heaven  help  him!  for  he  was  no  use  what- 
ever. 

"  I  take  it  that  'Loyshy's  the  brunette  Southdown 
of  the  Dillon  flock,"  says  I.  "  What  particular  brand 
of  cussedness  does  he  make  a  specialty  of  ?  " 

Sadie  says  that  Nora  hadn't  gone  much  into  par- 
ticulars, except  that  when  last  heard  of  he'd  joined 
the  Salvationists,  which  had  left  old  Larry  frothin'  at 
the  mouth.  He'd  threatened  to  break  Aloysius  into 
two  pieces  on  sight,  and  he'd  put  the  ban  on  speakin' 
his  name  around  the  house. 

"  Followin'  the  tambourine !  "  says  I.  "  That's  a 
queer  stunt  for  a  Dillon.  The  weeps  was  for  him, 
then?" 

They  wa'n't.  'Loyshy's  disappearin'  act  had  been 
done  two  or  three  years  back.  The  tears  was  all  on 
account  of  the  fortieth  weddin'  anniversary  of  the 
Dillons,  fallin'  as  it  did  just  a  week  after  Larry  had 
the  spell  of  rheumatism  which  got  him  laid  off  for 
good.  It's  a  nice  little  way  the  Inter-Met,  people  has 
of  rewardin'  the  old  vets.  An  inspector  finds  Larry 
with  his  hand  tied  to  the  chopper  handle,  takes  a  look 

297 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

at  his  cramped  up  fingers,  puts  down  his  number,  and 
next  payday  he  gets  the  sack. 

"  So  you've  found  another  candidate  for  your  pri- 
vate pension  list,  have  you,  Sadie  ?  "  says  I. 

But  that's  another  wrong  guess.  The  Dillons  ain't 
takin'  charity,  not  from  anyone.  It's  the  Dillon  sisters 
to  the  rescue.  They  rustles  around  until  they  find 
Larry  a  job  as  night  watch,  in  where  it's  warm.  Then 
they  all  chips  in  for  the  new  Tenth-ave  flat.  Maggie 
brings  her  man  and  the  two  kids,  the  lady  Kate  sends 
around  her  trunks  with  the  furniture,  and  Nora  prom- 
ises to  give  up  half  of  her  twenty  to  keep  things  going. 

And  then  the  Bradys,  who  lives  opposite,  has  to 
spring  their  blow  out.  They'd  been  married  forty 
years  too;  but  just  because  one  of  their  boys  was  in 
the  Fire  Department,  and  Lizzie  Brady  was  workin' 
in  a  Sixth-ave.  hair  dressin'  parlour,  they'd  no  call  to 
flash  such  a  bluff, — frosted  cake  from  the  baker,  with 
the  date  done  in  pink  candy,  candles  burnin'  on  the 
mantelpiece,  a  whole  case  of  St.  Louis  on  the  front  fire 
escape,  and  the  district  boss  drivin'  around  in  one  of 
Connely's  funeral  hacks.  Who  was  the  Bradys,  that 
they  should  have  weddin'  celebrations  when  the  Dil- 
lons had  none? 

Kate,  the  lady  sales  person,  handed  out  that  conun- 
drum. She  supplies  the  answer  too.  She  allows  that 
what  a  Brady  can  make  a  try  at,  a  Dillon  can  do  like 

298 


AT   HOME   WITH    THE   DILLONS 

it  ought  to  be  done.  So  they've  no  sooner  had  the  gas 
and  water  turned  on  at  the  new  flat  than  she  draws  up 
plans  for  a  weddin'  anniversary  that'll  make  the  Brady 
performance  look  like  a  pan  of  beans  beside  a  standing 
rib  roast. 

She  knows  what's  what,  the  lady  Kate  does.  She's 
been  to  the  real  things,  and  they  calls  'em  "  at  homes  " 
in  Harlem.  The  Dillons  will  be  at  home  Sunday  the 
nineteenth,  from  half  after  four  until  eight,  and  the 
Bradys  can  wag  their  tongues  off,  for  all  she  cares. 
It'll  be  in  honour  of  the  fortieth  wedding  anniversary 
of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lawrence  Dillon,  and  all  the  family 
connections,  and  all  friends  of  the  same,  is  to  have 
a  bid. 

"  Well,  that's  the  limit !  "  says  I.  "  Did  you  tell  the 
girl  they'd  better  be  layin'  in  groceries,  instead  of 
givin'  an  imitation  tea?" 

"  Certainly  not !  "  says  Sadie.  "  Why  shouldn't  they 
enjoy  themselves  in  their  own  way?" 

"  Eh?  "  says  I.  "  Oh,  I  take  it  all  back.  But  what 
was  the  eye  swabbin'  for,  then  ?  " 

By  degrees  I  gets  the  enacting  clause.  The  arrange- 
ments for  the  party  was  goin'  on  lovely, — Larry  was 
havin'  the  buttons  sewed  onto  the  long  tailed  coat  he 
was  married  in,  the  scene  shifter  had  got  the  loan  of 
some  stage  props  to  decorate  the  front  room,  there 
was  to  be  ice  cream  and  fancy  cakes  and  ladies'  punch, 

299 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

Father  Kelley  had  promised  to  drop  in,  and  all  was 
runnin'  smooth, — when  Mother  Dillon  breaks  loose. 

And  what  do  you  guess  is  the  matter  with  her  ?  She 
wants  her  'Loyshy.  If  there  was  to  be  any  fam'ly  con- 
vention and  weddin'  celebration,  why  couldn't  she  have 
her  little  Aloysius  to  it?  She  didn't  care  a  split  spud 
how  he'd  behaved,  or  if  him  and  his  father  had  had 
words ;  he  was  her  youngest  b'y,  and  she  thought  more 
of  him  than  all  the  rest  put  together,  and  she  wouldn't 
have  a  hand  in  any  doin's  that  'Loyshy  was  barred 
from  comin'  to. 

As  Nora  put  it,  "  When  the  old  lady  speaks  her 
mind,  you  got  to  listen  or  go  mad  from  her."  She 
don't  talk  of  anything  else,  and  when  she  ain't  talkin' 
she's  cryin'  her  eyes  out.  Old  Larry  swore  himself 
out  of  breath,  the  lady  Kate  argued,  and  Maggie  had 
done  her  best;  but  there  was  nothin'  doin'.  They'd 
got  to  find  Aloysius  and  ask  him  to  the  party,  or  call 
it  off. 

But  findin'  'Loyshy  wa'n't  any  cinch.  He'd  left 
the  Army  long  ago.  He  wa'n't  in  any  of  the  fifteen- 
cent  lodgin'  houses.  The  police  didn't  have  any  record 
of  him.  He  didn't  figure  in  the  hospital  lists.  The 
nearest  anyone  came  to  locatin'  him  was  a  handbook 
man  the  scene  shifter  knew,  who  said  he'd  heard  of 
'Loyshy  hangin'  around  the  Gravesend  track  summer 
before  last ;  but  there  was  no  use  lookin'  for  him  there 

300 


AT   HOME   WITH   THE   DILLONS 

at  this  time  of  year.  It  wa'n't  until  they'd  promised 
to  advertise  for  Aloysius  in  the  papers  that  Mother 
Dillon  quit  takin'  on  and  agreed  to  wear  the  green 
silk  she'd  had  made  for  Nora's  chistenin'. 

"  Yes,  and  what  then  ?  "  says  I. 

"  Why,"  says  Sadie,  "  Nora's  afraid  that  if  Aloysius 
doesn't  turn  up,  her  mother  will  spoil  the  party  with 
another  crying  spell;  and  she  knows  if  he  does  come, 
her  father  will  throw  him  out." 

"  She  has  a  happy  way  of  lookin'  at  things,"  says 
I.  "  Was  it  for  this  you  cut  out  going  to  Rocky- 
wold?" 

"  Of  course,"  says  Sadie.  "  I  am  to  pour  tea  at  the 
Dillons'  on  Sunday  afternoon.  You  are  to  come  at 
five,  and  bring  Pinckney." 

"  Ah,  pickles,  Sadie !  "  says  I.    "  This  is " 

"  Please,  Shorty  I  "  says  she.  "  I've  told  Nora  you 
would." 

"  I'll  put  it  up  to  Pinckney,"  says  I,  "  and  if  he's 
chump  enough  to  let  himself  loose  in  Tenth-ave.  so- 
ciety, just  to  help  the  Dillons  put  it  over  the  Bradys, 
I  expect  I'll  be  a  mark  too.  But  it's  a  dippy  move." 

Course,  I  mistrusted  how  Pinckney  would  take  it. 
He  thinks  he's  got  me  on  the  rollers,  and  proceeds  to 
shove.  He  hasn't  heard  more'n  half  the  tale  before  he 
begins  handin'  me  the  josh  about  it's  bein'  my  duty  to 
spread  sunshine  wherever  I  can. 

301 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

"  It's  calcium  the  Dillons  want,"  says  I.  "  But  I 
hadn't  got  to  tellin'  you  about  Aloysius." 

"What's  that?"  says  he.  "Aloysius  Dillon,  did 
you  say  ?  " 

"  He's  the  one  that's  playin'  the  part  of  the  missing 
prod.,"  says  I. 

"  What  is  he  like  ? "  says  Pinckney,  gettin'  inter- 
ested. 

"  Accordin'  to  descriptions,"  says  I,  "  he's  a  useless 
little  runt,  about  four  feet  nothin'  high  and  as  wide 
as  a  match,  with  the  temper  of  a  striped  hornet  and 
the  instincts  of  a  yellow  kyoodle.  But  he's  his  moth- 
er's pet,  just  the  same,  and  if  he  ain't  found  she 
threatens  to  throw  fits.  Don't  happen  to  know  him, 
do  you  ?  " 

"  Why,"  says  Pinckney,  "  I'm  not  sure  but  I  do." 

It  looks  like  a  jolly;  but  then  again,  you  never  can 
tell  about  Pinckney.  He  mixes  around  in  so  many 
sets  that  he's  like  to  know  'most  anybody. 

"  Well,"  says  I,  "  if  you  run  across  Aloysius  at  the 
club,  tell  him  what's  on  for  Sunday  afternoon." 

"  I  will,"  says  Pinckney,  lettin'  out  a  chuckle  and 
climbin'  into  his  cab. 

I  was  hoping  that  maybe  Sadie  would  renige  before 
the  time  come;  but  right  after  dinner  Sunday  she 
makes  up  in  her  second  best  afternoon  regalia,  calls  a 
hansom,  and  starts  for  Tenth-ave.,  leavin'  instructions 

302 


AT    HOME   WITH   THE   DILLONS 

how  I  was  to  show  up  in  about  an  hour  with  Pinckney, 
and  not  to  forget  about  handin'  out  our  cards  just  as  if 
this  was  a  swell  affair.  I  finds  Pinckney  got  up  in  his 
frock  coat  and  primrose  pants,  and  lookin'  mighty 
pleased  about  something  or  other. 

"  Huh !  "  says  I.  "  You  seem  to  take  this  as  a 
reg'lar  cut-up  act.  I  call  it  blamed  nonsense,  en- 
couragin'  folks  like  the  Dillons  to " 

But  there  ain't  any  use  arguin'  with  Pinckney 
when  he's  feelin'  that  way.  He  only  grins  and  looks 
mysterious.  We  don't  have  to  hunt  for  the  number 
of  the  Dillons'  flat  house,  for  there's  a  gang  of  kids 
on  the  front  steps  and  more  out  in  the  street  gawpin' 
up  at  the  lighted  windows.  We  makes  a  dive  through 
them  and  tackles  the  four  flights,  passin'  inspection  of 
the  tenants  on  the  way  up,  every  door  bein'  open. 

"  Who's  comin'  now  ?  "  sings  out  a  women  from  the 
second  floor  back. 

"  Only  a  couple  of  Willies  from  the  store,"  says  a 
gent  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  givin'  us  the  stare. 

From  other  remarks  we  heard  passed,  it  was  clear 
the  Dillons  had  been  tootin'  this  party  as  something 
fine  and  classy,  and  that  they  wa'n't  making  good. 
The  signs  of  frost  grows  plainer  as  we  gets  nearer  the 
scene  of  the  festivities.  All  the  Dillon  tamily  was 
there,  right  enough,  from  the  youngest  kid  up.  Old 
Larry  has  had  his  face  scraped  till  it  shines  like  a  cop- 

303 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

per  stewpan,  and  him  and  Mother  Dillon  is  standin' 
under  a  green  paper  bell  hung  from  a  hook  in  the  ceil- 
ing. I  could  spot  Tom,  the  coal  cart  driver,  by  the 
ring  of  dust  under  his  eyelashes;  and  there  was  no 
mistakin'  lady  Kate,  the  sales  person,  with  the  double 
row  of  coronet  hair  rolls  pinned  to  the  top  of  her  head. 
Over  in  the  corner,  too,  was  Sadie,  talkin'  to  Father 
Kelley.  But  there  wa'n't  any  great  signs  of  joy. 

The  wHole  party  sizes  up  me  and  Pinckney  as  if 
they  was  disappointed.  I  can't  say  what  they  was 
lookin'  for  from  us;  but  whatever  it  was,  we  didn't 
seem  to  fill  the  bill.  And  just  when  the  gloom 
is  settlin'  down  thickest,  Mother  Dillon  begins  to 
sniffle. 

"  Now,  mother,"  says  Nora,  soothin'  like,  "  remem- 
ber there's  company." 

"  Ah,  bad  scran  to  the  lot  of  yez !  "  says  the  old  lady. 
"  Where's  my  Aloysius  ?  Where  is  he,  will  ye  tell  me 
that?" 

"  Divvul  take  such  a  woman !  "  says  old  Larry. 

"  Tut,  tut !  "  says  Father  Kelley. 

"  Will  you  look  at  the  Bradys  now !  "  whispers  Mag- 
gie, hoarselike. 

It  wa'n't  easy  guessin'  which  windows  in  the  block 
was  theirs,  for  every  ledge  has  a  pillow  on  it,  and  a 
couple  of  pairs  of  elbows  on  every  pillow,  but  I  took 
it  that  the  Bradys  was  where  they  was  grinnin'  widest. 

304 


AT   HOME   WITH   THE   DILLONS 

You  could  tell,  though,  that  the  merry  laugh  was 
bein'  passed  up  and  down,  and  it  was  on  the  Dil- 
lons. 

And  then,  as  I  was  tryin'  to  give  Sadie  the  get-away 
sign,  we  hears  a  deep  honk  outside,  and  I  sees  the 
folks  across  the  way  stretchin'  their  necks  out.  In  a 
minute  there's  a  scamperin'  in  the  halls  like  a  stam- 
pede at  a  synagogue,  and  we  hears  the  "  Ah-h-hs !  " 
coming  up  from  below.  We  all  makes  a  rush  for  the 
front  and  rubbers  out  to  see  what's  happenin'.  By 
climbin'  on  a  chair  and  peekin'  over  the  top  of  the  lady 
Kate's  hair  puffs,  I  catches  a  glimpse  of  a  big  yellow 
and  black  bodied  car,  with  a  footman  in  a  bearskin 
coat  holdin'  open  the  door. 

'  Oh-o-o-oh !  look  what's  here  ?  "  squeals  eight  little 
Dillons  in  chorus. 

You  couldn't  blame  'em,  either,  for  the  hat  that  was 
bein'  squeezed  out  through  the  door  of  the  car  was 
one  of  these  Broadway  thrillers,  four  feet  across,  and 
covered  with  as  many  green  ostrich  feathers  as  you 
could  carry  in  a  clothes  basket.  What  was  under  the 
feather  lid  we  couldn't  see.  Followin'  it  out  of  the 
machine  comes  somethin'  cute  in  a  butter  colored  over- 
coat and  a  brown  derby.  In  a  minute  more  we  gets 
the  report  that  the  procession  is  headed  up  the  stairs, 
and  by  the  time  we've  grouped  ourselves  around  the 
room  with  our  mouths  open,  in  they  floats. 

305 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

In  the  lead,  wearin'  the  oleo  coat  with  yellow  silk 
facin's,  was  a  squizzled  up  little  squirt  with  rat  eyes 
and  a  mean  little  face  about  as  thick  as  a  slice  of  toast, 
and  the  same  colour.  His  clothes,  though,  is  a  pome 
in  browns  and  yellows,  from  the  champagne  tinted 
No.  3  shoes  to  the  tobacco  coloured  No.  5  hat,  leavin' 
out  the  necktie,  which  was  a  shade  somewhere  between 
a  blue  store  front  and  a  bottle  of  purple  ink. 

Even  if  I  hadn't  seen  the  face,  I  could  have  guessed 
who  it  was,  just  by  the  get-up.  Course,  there's  been 
a  good  many  noisy  dressers  floatin'  around  the  grill 
room  district  this  winter,  but  there  always  has  to  be 
one  real  scream  in  every  crowd ;  and  this  was  it. 

"  If  it  ain't  Shrimp ! "  says  I. 

"  Hello,  Shorty !  "  says  he,  in  that  little  squeak  of 
his. 

And  at  that  some  one  swoops  past  me.  There's  a 
flapping  of  green  silk  skirt,  and  Mother  Dillon  has 
given  him  the  high  tackle. 

"  Aloysius !    My  little  'Loyshy !  "  she  squeals. 

And  say,  you  could  have  pushed  me  over  with  one 
finger.  Here  I'd  been  hearin'  for  the  last  two  seasons 
about  this  jock  that  had  come  up  from  stable  helper 
in  a  night,  and  how  he'd  been  winning  on  nine  out  of 
every  ten  mounts,  and  how  all  the  big  racing  men  was 
overbiddm'  each  other  to  get  him  signed  for  their 
stables.  Some  of  Pinckney's  sportin'  friends  had 

306 


AT   HOME   WITH    THE   DILLONS 

towed  Shrimp  into  the  Studio  once  or  twice,  and  be- 
sides that  I'd  read  in  the  papers  all  about  his  giddy 
wardrobe,  and  his  big"  Swede  valet,  and  the  English 
chorus  girl  that  had  married  him.  But  in  all  this  talk 
of  Sadie's  about  the  Dillon  fam'ly,  I'd  never  so  much 
as  guessed  that  Aloysius,  the  stray,  was  one  and  the 
same  as  Shrimp  Dillon. 

Here  he  was,  though,  in  the  Dillon  flat,  with  Mother 
Dillon  almost  knocknv  his  breath  out  pattin'  him  on 
the  back,  and  all  the  little  Dillons  jumpin'  around  and 
yellin',  "  Uncle  'Loyshy,  Uncle  'Loyshy !  "  and  Kate 
and  Maggie  and  Nora  waitin'  their  turns;  and  the 
rest  of  us,  includin'  old  Larry  and  me  and  Sadie, 
lookin'  foolish.  The  only  one  that  acts  like  he  wa'n't 
surprised  is  Pinckney. 

Well,  as  soon  as  Shrimp  can  wiggle  himself  clear, 
and  shake  the  little  Dillons  off  his  legs,  he  hauls  Mrs. 
Shrimp  to  the  front  and  does  the  honours.  And  say, 
they  make  a  pair  that  would  draw  a  crowd  anywhere ! 
You  know  the  style  of  chorus  ladies  the  Lieblers  bring 
over, — the  lengthy,  high  chested,  golden  haired  kind? 
Well,  she's  one  of  the  dizziest  that  ever  stood  up  to 
make  a  background  for  the  pony  ballet.  And  she  has 
on  a  costume — well,  it  goes  with  the  hat,  which  it 
puttin'  it  strong. 

If  the  sight  of  her  and  the  circus  coloured  car  wa'n't 
enough  to  stun  the  neighbours  and  send  the  Bradys 

307 


SIDE-STEPPING  WITH   SHORTY 

under  the  bed,  they  had  only  to  wait  till  the  Swede 
valet  and  the  footman  began  luggin'  up  the  sheaf  of 
two-dollar  roses  and  the  basket  of  champagne. 

I  was  watchin*  old  Larry  to  see  how  he  was  takin' 
it.  First  he  looks  Shrimp  up  and  down,  from  the 
brown  hat  to  the  yellow  shoes,  and  then  he  gazes  at 
Mrs.  Shrimp.  Then  his  stiff  lower  jaw  begins  saggin' 
down,  and  his  knobby  old  fingers  unloosens  from  the 
grip  they'd  got  into  at  first  sight  of  'Loyshy.  It's  plain 
that  he  was  some  in  doubt  about  that  chuckin'  out 
programme  he'd  had  all  framed  up.  What  Larry  had 
been  expectin'  should  the  boy  turn  up  at  all,  was  some- 
thing that  looked  like  it  had  been  picked  out  of  the 
bread  line.  And  here  was  a  specimen  of  free  spender 
that  had  "  Keep  the  change !  "  pasted  all  over  him. 
Then,  before  he  has  it  half  figured  out,  they're  lined 
up  in  front  of  each  other.  But  old  Larry  ain't  one  to 
do  the  sidestep. 

"  Aloysius,"  says  he,  scowlin'  down  at  him,  "  where 
do  ye  be  afther  gettin'  ut?" 

"  Out  of  the  ponies,  old  stuff.  Where  else  ?  "  says 
Shrimp. 

"Bettin'?"  says  Larry. 

"Bettin'  nothin'!"  says   Shrimp.    "Mud   ridin'." 

"  Allow  me,"  says  Pinckney,  pushin'  in,  "  to  intro- 
duce to  you  all,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  Mr.  Shrimp 
Dillon,  one  of  the  best  paid  jockeys  in  America." 

308 


AT   HOME   WITH   THE  DILLONS 

"And  what  might  they  be  payin'  the  likes  of  him 
for  bein'  a  jockey?  "  says  old  Larry. 

"Why,"  says  Pinckney,  "it  was  something  like 
twenty  thousand  this  season,  wasn't  it,  Shrimp  ?  " 

"  Countin'  bonuses  and  all,"  says  Shrimp,  "  it  was 
nearer  thirty-two." 

"  Thirty-two  thou "    But  Larry's  mouth  is  open 

so  wide  he  can't  get  the  rest  out.  He  just  catches  his 
breath,  and  then,  "  'Loyshy,  me  lad,  give  us  your  hand 
on  it." 

"  Ahem !  "  says  Father  Kelley,  pickin'  up  his  hat, 
"  this  seems  to  be  a  case  where  the  prodigal  has  re- 
turned— and  brought  his  veal  with  him." 

"  That's  a  thrue  word,"  says  Larry.  "  'Tis  a  proud 
day  for  the  Dillons." 

Did  they  put  it  over  the  Bradys?  Well,  say!  All 
the  Bradys  has  to  do  now,  to  remember  who  the  Dil- 
lons are,  is  to  look  across  the  way  and  see  the  two 
geranium  plants  growin'  out  of  solid  silver  pots. 
Course,  they  wa'n't  meant  for  flower  pots.  They're 
champagne  coolers ;  but  Mother  Dillon  don't  know  the 
difference,  so  what's  the  odds  ?  Anyway,  they're  what 
'Loyshy  brought  for  presents,  and  I'll  bet  they're  the 
only  pair  west  of  Sixth-avenue. 


309 


XX 

THE  CASE  OF  RUSTY  QUINN 

SAY,  I  ain't  one  of  the  kind  to  go  around  makin* 
a  noise  like  a  pickle,  just  because  I  don't  happen  to 
have  the  same  talents  that's  been  handed  out  to  others. 
About  all  I  got  to  show  is  a  couple  of  punch  distri- 
butors that's  more  or  less  educated,  and  a  block  that's 
set  on  some  solid.  Not  much  to  get  chesty  over ;  but 
the  combination  has  kept  me  from  askin'  for  benefit 
performances,  and  as  a  rule  I'm  satisfied. 

There's  times,  though,  when  I  wish — say,  don't  go 
givin'  me  the  hee-haw  on  this — when  I  wish  I  could 
sing.  Ah,  I  don't  mean  bein'  no  grand  opera  tenor, 
with  a  throat  that  has  to  be  kept  in  cotton  battin'  and 
a  reputation  that  needs  chloride  of  lime.  What  would 
suit  me  would  be  just  a  plain,  every  day  la-la-la  outfit 
of  pipes,  that  I  could  turn  loose  on  coon  songs  when 
I  was  alone,  or  out  with  a  bunch  in  the  moonlight.  I'd 
like  to  be  able  to  come  in  on  a  chorus  now  and  then, 
without  havin'  the  rest  of  the  crowd  turn  on  me  and 
call  for  the  hook. 

What  music  I've  got  is  the  ingrowin'  kind.  When 
anybody  starts  up  a  real  lively  tune  I  can  feel  it  throb- 


THE  CASE  OF  RUSTY  QUINN 
bin'  and  bumpin'  away  in  my  head,  like  a  blowfly  in 
a  milk  bottle;  but  if  ever  I  try  uncorkin'  one  of  my 
warbles,  the  people  on  the  next  block  call  in  the  chil- 
dren, and  the  truck  drivers  begin  huntin'  for  the  dry 
axle. 

Now  look  at  what  bein'  .musical  did  for  Rusty 
Quinn.  Who's  Rusty?  Well,  he  ain't  much  of  any- 
body. I  used  to  wonder,  when  I'd  see  him  kickin' 
around  under  foot  in  different  places,  how  it  was  he 
had  the  nerve  to  go  on  livin'.  Useless !  He  appeared 
about  as  much  good  to  the  world  as  a  pair  of  boxin' 
gloves  would  be  to  the  armless  wonder. 

First  I  saw  of  Rusty  was  five  or  six  years  back, 
when  he  was  hangin'  around  my  trainin'  camp.  He 
was  a  long,  slab  sided,  loose  jointed,  freckled  up  kid 
then,  always  wearin'  a  silly,  good  natured  grin  on  his 
homely  face.  About  all  the  good  you  could  say  of 
Rusty  was  that  he  could  play  the  mouth  organ,  and 
be  good  natured,  no  matter  how  hard  he  was  up 
against  it. 

If  there  was  anything  else  he  could  do  well,  no  one 
ever  found  it  out,  though  he  tried  plenty  of  things. 
And  he  always  had  some  great  scheme  rattlin'  round 
in  his  nut,  something  that  was  goin'  to  win  him  the 
big  stake.  But  it  was  a  new  scheme  every  other  day, 
and,  outside  of  grinnin'  and  playin'  the  mouth  organ, 
all  I  ever  noticed  specially  brilliant  about  him  was  the 

3" 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

way  he  used  cigarettes  as  a  substitute  for  food. 
Long's  he  had  a  bag  of  fact'ry  sweepin's  and  a  book  of 
rice  papers  he  didn't  mind  how  many  meals  he  missed, 
and  them  long  fingers  of  his  was  so  well  trained  they 
could  roll  dope  sticks  while  he  slept. 

Well,  it  had  been  a  year  or  so  since  I'd  run  across 
him  last,  and  if  I'd  thought  about  him  at  all,  which  I 
didn't,  it  would  have  been  to  guess  what  fin'lly  finished 
him;  when  this  affair  out  on  Long  Island  was  pulled 
off.  The  swells  that  owns  country  places  along  the 
south  shore  has  a  horse  show  about  this  time  every 
year.  As  a  rule  they  gets  along  without  me  bein' 
there  to  superintend;  but  last  week  I  happens  to  be 
down  that  way,  payin'  a  little  call  on  Mr.  Jarvis,  an 
old  reg'lar  of  mine,  and  in  the  afternoon  he  wants  to 
know  if  I  don't  want  to  climb  up  on  the  coach  with  the 
rest  of  the  gang  and  drive  over  to  see  the  sport. 

Now  I  ain't  so  much  stuck  on  this  four-in-hand 
business.  It's  jolty  kind  of  ridin',  anyway,  and  if  the 
thing  upsets  you've  got  a  long  ways  to  fall;  but  I 
always  likes  takin'  a  look  at  a  lot  of  good  horses,  so 
I  plants  myself  up  behind,  alongside  the  gent  that  does 
the  tara-tara-ta  act  on  the  copper  funnel,  and  off  we 
goes. 

It  ain't  any  of  these  common  fair  grounds  horse 
shows,  such  as  anyone  can  buy  a  badge  to.  This  is 
held  on  the  private  trottin'  track  at  Windymere — you 

312 


THE    CASE   OF   RUSTY   QUINN 

know,  that  big  estate  that's  been  leased  by  the  Twom- 
bley-Cranes  since  they  started  makin'  their  splurge. 

And  say,  they  know  how  to  do  things  in  shape,  them 
folks.  There's  a  big  green  and  white  striped  tent  set 
up  for  the  judges  at  the  home  plate,  and  banked  around 
that  on  either  side  was  the  traps  and  carts  and  bubbles 
of  some  of  the  crispest  crackerjacks  on  Mrs.  Astor's 
list.  Course,  there  was  a  lot  of  people  I  knew;  so 
as  soon  as  our  coach  is  backed  into  position  I  shins 
down  from  the  perch  and  starts  in  to  do  the  glad  hand 
walk  around. 

That's  what  fetches  me  onto  one  of  the  side  paths 
leadin'  up  towards  the  big  house.  I  was  takin'  a 
short  cut  across  the  grass,  when  I  sees  a  little  pro- 
cession comin'  down  through  the  shrubbery.  First 
off  it  looks  like  some  one  was  bein'  helped  into  their 
coat;  but  then  I  notices  that  the  husky  chap  behind 
was  actin'  more  vigorous  than  polite.  He  has  the 
other  guy  by  the  collar,  and  was  givin'  him  the  knee 
good  and  plenty,  first  shovin'  him  on  a  step  or  two, 
and  then  jerkin'  him  back  solid.  Loomin'  up  in  the 
rear  was  a  gent  I  spots  right  off  for  Mr.  Twombley- 
Crane  himself,  and  by  the  way  he  follows  I  takes  it 
he's  bossin'  the  job. 

"  Gee !  "  says  I  to  myself,  "  here's  some  one  gettin' 
the  rough  chuck-out  for  fair." 

And  then  I  has  a  glimpse  of  a  freckly  face  and  the 

313 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

silly  grin.  The  party  gettin'  the  run  was  Rusty  Quinn. 
He's  lookin'  just  as  seedy  as  ever,  being  costumed  in 
a  faded  blue  jersey,  an  old  pair  of  yellow  ridin'  pants, 
and  leggin's  that  don't  match.  The  bouncer  is  a  great, 
ham  fisted,  ruddy  necked  Britisher,  a  man  twice  the 
weight  of  Rusty,  with  a  face  shaped  like  a  punkin.  As 
he  sees  me  slow  up  he  snorts  out  somethin'  ugly  and 
gives  Quinn  an  extra  hard  bang  in  the  back  with  his 
knee.  And  that  starts  my  temperature  to  risin'  right 
off. 

"  Why  don't  you  hit  him  with  a  maul,  you  bloomin' 
aitch  eater,"  says  I.  "  Hey,  Rusty !  what  you  been 
up  to  now  ?  " 

"  Your  friend's  been  happre'ended  a-sneak  thievin', 
that's  w'at ! "  growls  out  the  beef  chewer. 

"  G'wan,"  says  I.  "  I  wouldn't  believe  the  likes  of 
you  under  oath.  Rusty,  how  about  it  ?  " 

Quinn,  he  gives  me  one  of  them  batty  grins  of  his 
and  spreads  out  his  hand.  "  Honest,  Shorty,"  says 
he,  "  I  was  only  after  a  handful  of  Turkish  cigarettes 
from  the  smokin'  room.  I  wouldn't  touched  another 
thing ;  cross  m'  heart,  I  wouldn't !  " 

"  'Ear  'im !  "  says  the  Britisher.  "  And  'im  caught 
prowlin'  through  the  'ouse ! "  With  that  he  gives 
Rusty  a  shake  that  must  have  loosened  his  back  teeth, 
and  prods  him  on  once  more. 

"  Ah,  say,"  says  I,  "  you  ain't  got  no  call  to  break 


THE    CASE    OF    RUSTY   QUINN 

his  back  even  if  he  was  prowlin'.    Cut  it  out,  you  big 
mucker,  or " 

Say,  I  shouldn't  have  done  it,  seein'  where  I  was; 
but  the  ugly  look  on  his  mug  as  he  lifts  his  knee 
again  seems  to  pull  the  trigger  of  my  right  arm,  and 
I  swings  in  one  on  that  punkin  head  like  I  was  chop- 
pin'  wood.  He  drops  Rusty  and  comes  at  me  with  a 
rush,  windmill  fashion,  and  I'm  so  happy  for  the  next 
two  minutes,  givin'  him  what  he  needs,  that  I've 
mussed  up  his  countenance  a  lot  before  I  sends  in  the 
one  that  finds  the  soft  spot  on  his  jaw  and  lands  him 
on  the  grass. 

"  Here,  here !  "  shouts  Mr.  Twombley-Crane,  comin' 
up  just  as  his  man  does  the  back  shoulder  fall.  "  Why, 
McCabe,  what  does  this  mean  ?  " 

"  Nothin'  much,"  says  I,  "  except  that  I  ain't  in  love 
with  your  particular  way  of  speedin'  the  partin'  guest." 

"  Guest !  "  says  he,  flushin'  up.  "  The  fellow  was 
caught  prowling.  Besides,  by  what  right  do  you  ques- 
tion my  method  of  getting  rid  of  a  sneak  thief?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  stop  for  rights  in  a  case  of  this  kind," 
says  I.  "  I  just  naturally  butts  in.  I  happens  to  know 
that  Rusty  here  ain't  any  more  of  a  thief  than  I  am. 
If  you've  got  a  charge  to  make,  though,  I'll  see  that 
he's  in  court  when " 

"  I  don't  care  to  bother  with  the  police,"  says  he. 
"  I  merely  want  the  fellow  kicked  off  the  place." 

315 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

"  Sorry  to  interfere  with  your  plans,"  says  I ;  "  but 
he's  been  kicked  enough.  I'll  lead  him  off,  though, 
and  guarantee  he  don't  come  back,  if  that'll  do  ?  " 

We  both  simmered  down  after  he  agrees  to  that 
proposition.  The  beef  eater  picks  himself  up  and  limps 
back  to  the  house,  while  I  escorts  Rusty  as  far  as  the 
gates,  givin'  him  some  good  advice  on  the  way  down. 
Seems  he'd  been  workin'  as  stable  helper  at  Windy- 
mere  for  a  couple  of  weeks,  his  latest  dream  bein'  that 
he  was  cut  out  for  a  jockey;  but  he'd  run  out  of  dope 
sticks  and,  knowin'  they  was  scattered  around  reckless 
in  the  house,  he'd  just  walked  in  lookin'  for  some. 

"  Which  shows  you've  lost  what  little  sense  you  ever 
had,"  says  I.  "  Now  here's  two  whole  dollars,  Rusty. 
Go  off  somewheres  and  smoke  yourself  to  death.  No- 
body'11  miss  you." 

Rusty,  he  just  grins  and  moseys  down  the  road, 
while  I  goes  back  to  see  the  show,  feelin'  about  as 
much  to  home,  after  that  run  in,  as  a  stray  pup  in 
church. 

It  was  about  an  hour  later,  and  they'd  got  through 
the  program  as  far  as  the  youngsters'  pony  cart  class, 
to  be  followed  by  an  exhibit  of  fancy  farm  teams. 
Well,  the  kids  was  gettin'  ready  to  drive  into  the  ring. 
There  was  a  bunch  of  'em,  mostly  young  girls  all 
togged  out  in  pink  and  white,  drivin'  dinky  Shetlands 
in  wicker  carts  covered  with  daisies  and  ribbons.  In 

316 


THE    CASE   OF   RUSTY   QUINN 

the  lead  was  little  Miss  Gladys,  that  the  Twombley- 
Cranes  think  more  of  than  they  do  their  whole  bank 
account.  The  rigs  was  crowded  into  the  main  drive- 
way, ready  to  turn  into  the  track  as  soon  as  the  way 
was  cleared,  and  it  sure  was  a  sight  worth  seein'. 

I  was  standin'  up  on  the  coach,  takin'  it  in,  when 
all  of  a  sudden  there  comes  a  rumblin',  thunderin' 
sound  from  out  near  the  gates,  and  folks  begins  askin' 
each  other  what's  happened.  They  didn't  have  to  wait 
long  for  the  answer;  for  before  anyone  can  open  a 
mouth,  around  the  curve  comes  a  cloud  of  dust,  and 
out  dashes  a  pair  of  big  greys  with  one  of  them  heavy 
blue  and  yellow  farm  waggons  rattlin'  behind.  It  was 
easy  to  guess  what's  up  then.  One  of  the  farm  teams 
has  been  scared. 

Next  thing  that  was  clear  was  that  there  wa'n't 
any  driver  on  the  waggon,  and  that  them  crazy  horses 
was  headed  straight  for  that  snarl  of  pony  carts. 
There  wa'n't  any  yellin'  done.  I  guess  'most  every 
body's  throat  was  too  choked  up.  I  know  mine  was. 
I  only  hears  one  sound  above  the  bang  and  rattle  of 
them  hoofs  and  wheels.  That  was  a  kind  of  a  groan, 
and  I  looks  down  to  see  Mr.  Twombley-Crane  standin' 
up  in  the  seat  of  a  tourin'  car,  his  face  the  colour  of  a 
wax  candle,  and  such  a  look  in  his  eyes  as  I  ain't 
anxious  to  see  on  any  man  again. 

Next  minute  he'd  jumped.  But  it  wa'n't  any  use. 
317 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

He  was  too  far  away,  and  there  was  too  big  a  crowd 
to  get  through.  Even  if  he  could  have  got  there  soon 
enough,  he  couldn't  have  stopped  them  crazy  brutes 
any  more'n  he  could  have  blocked  a  cannon  ball. 

I  feels  sick  and  faint  in  the  pit  of  my  stomach,  and 
the  one  thing  I  wants  to  do  most  just  then  is  to  shut 
my  eyes.  But  I  couldn't.  I  couldn't  look  anywhere 
but  at  that  pair  of  tearin'  horses  and  them  broad  iron 
wheels.  And  that's  why  I  has  a  good  view  of  some- 
thing that  jumps  out  of  the  bushes,  lands  in  a  heap  in 
the  waggon,  and  then  scrambles  toward  the  front  seat 
as  quick  as  a  cat.  I  see  the  red  hair  and  the  blue 
jersey,  and  that's  enough.  I  knows  it's  that  useless 
Rusty  Quinn  playin'  the  fool. 

Now,  if  he'd  had  a  pair  of  arms  like  Jeffries,  maybe 
there'd  been  some  hope  of  his  pullin'  down  them  horses 
inside  the  couple  of  hundred  feet  there  was  between 
theii  front  toe  calks  and  where  little  Miss  Gladys  was 
sittin'  rooted  to  the  cushions  of  her  pony  cart.  But 
Rusty's  muscle  development  is  about  equal  to  that  of 
a  fourteen-year  boy,  and  it  looks  like  he's  goin'  to  do 
more  harm  than  good  when  he  grabs  the  reins  from 
the  whip  socket.  But  he  stands  up,  plants  his  feet 
wide,  and  settles  back  for  the  pull. 

Almost  before  anyone  sees  his  game,  he's  done  the 
trick.  There's  a  smash  that  sounds  like  a  buildin'  fall- 
in'  down,  a  crackin'  and  splinterin'  of  oak  wood  and 


THE    CASE    OF    RUSTY   QUINN 

iron,  a  rattlin'  of  trace  chains,  a  couple  of  soggy 
thumps, — and  when  the  dust  settles  down  we  sees  a 
grey  horse  rollin'  feet  up  on  either  side  of  a  big  maple, 
and  at  the  foot  of  the  tree  all  that's  left  of  that  yellow 
and  blue  waggon.  Rusty  had  put  what  strength  he 
had  into  one  rein  at  just  the  right  time,  and  the  pole 
had  struck  the  trunk  square  in  the  middle. 

For  a  minute  or  so  there  was  a  grand  hurrah,  with 
mothers  and  fathers  rushin'  to  grab  their  youngsters 
out  of  the  carts  and  hug  'em ;  which  you  couldn't  blame 
'em  for  doin',  either.  As  for  me,  I  drops  off  the  back 
of  the  coach  and  makes  a  bee  line  for  that  wreck,  so 
I'm  among  the  first  dozen  to  get  there.  I'm  in  time  to 
shove  my  shoulder  under  the  capsized  waggon  body 
and  hold  it  up. 

Well,  there  ain't  any  use  goin'  into  details.  What 
we  took  from  under  there  didn't  look  much  like  a 
human  bein',  for  it  was  as  limp  and  shapeless  as  a 
bag  of  old  rags.  But  the  light  haired  young  feller 
that  said  he  was  a  medical  student  guessed  there  might 
be  some  life  left.  He  wa'n't  sure.  He  held  his  ear 
down,  and  after  he'd  listened  for  a  minute  he  said 
maybe  something  could  be  done.  So  we  laid  it  on  one 
of  the  side  boards  and  lugged  it  up  to  the  house,  while 
some  one  jumps  into  a  sixty-horse  power  car  and 
starts  for  a  sure  enough  doctor. 

It  was  durin'  the  next  ten  minutes,  when  the  young 
3*9 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

student  was  cuttin'  off  the  blue  jersey  and  the  ridin' 
pants,  and  pokin'  and  feelin'  around,  that  Mr.  Twom- 
bley-Crane  gets  the  facts  of  the  story.  He  didn't  have 
much  to  say;  but,  knowin'  what  I  did,  and  seein'  how 
he  looked,  I  could  easy  frame  up  what  was  on  his  mind. 
He  gives  orders  that  whatever  was  wanted  should  be 
handed  out,  and  he  was  standin'  by  holdin'  the  brandy 
flask  himself  when  them  washed  out  blue  eyes  of 
Rusty 's  flickers  open  for  the  first  time. 

"  I — I  forgot  my — mouth  organ,"  says  Rusty.  "  I 
wouldn't  of  come  back — but  for  that." 

It  wa'n't  much  more'n  a  whisper,  and  it  was  a  shaky 
one  at  that.  So  was  Mr.  Twombley-Crane's  voice 
kind  of  shaky  when  he  tells  him  he  thanks  the  Lord 
he  did  come  back.  And  then  Rusty  goes  off  in  another 
faint. 

Next  a  real  doc.  shows  up,  and  he  chases  us  all 
out  while  him  and  the  student  has  a  confab.  In  five 
minutes  or  so  we  gets  the  verdict.  The  doc.  says 
Rusty  is  damaged  pretty  bad.  Things  have  happened 
to  his  ribs  and  spine  which  ought  to  have  ended  him 
on  the  spot.  As  it  is,  he  may  hold  out  another  hour, 
though  in  the  shape  he's  in  he  don't  see  how  he  can. 
But  if  he  could  hold  out  that  long  the  doc.  knows  of  an 
A-i  sawbones  who  could  mend  him  up  if  anyone  could. 

"  Then  telephone  for  him  at  once,  and  do  your  best 
meanwhile,"  says  Mr.  Twombley-Crane, 

320 


THE    CASE    OF   RUSTY   QUINN 

By  that  time  everyone  on  the  place  knows  about 
Rusty  and  his  stunt.  The  front  rooms  was  full  of 
people  standin'  around  whisperin'  soft  to  each  other 
and  lookin'  solemn, — swell,  high  toned  folks,  that  half 
an  hour  before  hardly  knew  such  specimens  as  Rusty 
existed.  But  when  the  word  is  passed  around  that 
probably  he's  all  in,  they  takes  it  just  as  hard  as  if  he 
was  one  of  their  own  kind.  When  it  comes  to  takin' 
the  long  jump,  we're  all  pretty  much  on  the  same 
grade,  ain't  we? 

I  begun  to  see  where  I  hadn't  any  business  sizin' 
up  Rusty  like  I  had,  and  was  workin'  up  a  heavy  feel- 
in'  in  my  chest,  when  the  doc.  comes  out  and  asks  if 
there's  such  a  party  as  Shorty  McCabe  present.  I 
knew  what  was  comin'.  Rusty  has  got  his  eyes  open 
again  and  is  callin'  for  me. 

I  finds  him  half  propped  up  with  pillows  on  a  shiny 
mahogany  table,  his  face  all  screwed  up  from  the  hurt 
inside,  and  the  freckles  showin'  up  on  his  dead  white 
skin  like  peach  stains  on  a  table  cloth. 

"  They  say  I'm  all  to  the  bad,  Shorty,"  says  he,  try* 
in'  to  spring  that  grin  of  his. 

"  Aw,  cut  it  out !  "  says  I.  "  You  tell  'em  they  got 
another  guess.  You're  too  tough  and  rugged  to  ga 
under  so  easy." 

"  Think  so?  "  says  he,  real  eager,  his  eyes  lightin'  up. 

"Sure  thing!"  says  I.  Say,  I  put  all  the  ginger 
321 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH    SHORTY 

and  cheerfulness  I  could  fake  up  into  that  lie.  And 
it  seems  to  do  him  a  heap  of  good.  When  I  asks  him 
if  there's  anything  he  wants,  he  makes  another  crack 
at  his  grin,  and  says: 

"  A  paper  pipe  would  taste  good  about  now." 

"  Let  him  have  it,"  says  the  doc.  So  the  student 
digs  out  his  cigarette  case,  and  we  helps  Rusty  light  up. 

"  Ain't  there  somethin'  more,  Rusty  ? "  says  I. 
"  You  know  the  house  is  yours." 

"  Well,"  says  he,  after  a  few  puffs,  "  if  this  is  to  be 
a  long  wait,  a  little  music  would  help.  There's  a 
piano  over  in  the  corner." 

I  looks  at  the  doc.  and  shakes  my  head.  He  shakes 
back. 

"  I  used  to  play  a  few  hymns,"  says  the  student. 

"  Forget  'em,  then,"  says  Rusty.  "  A  hymn  would 
finish  me,  sure.  What  I'd  like  is  somethin'  lively." 

"Doc.,"  says  I,  "would  it  hurt?" 

"  Couldn't,"  says  he.  Also  he  whispers  that  he'd 
use  chloroform,  only  Rusty's  heart's  too  bad,  and  if 
he  wants  ragtime  to  deal  it  out. 

"  Wish  I  could,"  says  I ;  "  but  maybe  I  can  find  some 
one  who  can." 

With  that  I  slips  out  and  hunts  up  Mrs.  Twombley- 
Crane,  explainin'  the  case  to  her. 

"  Why,  certainly,"  says  she.  "  Where  is  Effie?  I'll 
send  her  in  right  away." 

322 


THE    CASE   OF   RUSTY   QUINN 

She's  a  real  damson  plum,  Effie  is ;  one  of  the  cute, 
fluffy  haired  kind,  about  nineteen.  She  comes  in  look- 
in'  scared  and  sober;  but  when  she's  had  a  look  at 
Rusty,  and  he's  tried  his  grin  on  her,  and  said  how  he'd 
like  to  hear  somebody  tear  off  somethin'  that  would 
remind  him  of  Broadway,  she  braces  right  up. 

"  I  know,"  says  she. 

And  say,  she  did  know !  She  has  us  whirl  the  baby 
grand  around  so's  she  can  glance  over  the  top  at 
Rusty,  tosses  her  lace  handkerchief  into  one  corner  of 
the  keyboard,  pushes  back  her  sleeves  until  the  elbow 
dimples  show,  and  the  next  thing  we  know  she's  teasin' 
the  tumpety-tum  out  of  the  ivories  like  a  professor. 

She  opens  up  with  a  piece  you  hear  all  the  kids 
whistlin', — something  with  a  swing  and  a  rattle  to  it, 
I  don't  know  what.  But  it  brings  Rusty  up  on  his  elbow 
and  sets  him  to  keepin'  time  with  the  cigarette.  Then 
she  slides  off  into  "  Poor  John ! "  and  Rusty  calls  out 
for  her  to  sing  it,  if  she  can.  Can  she?  Why,  she's 
got  one  of  them  sterling  silver  voices,  thnt  makes  Vesta 
Victoria's  warblin'  sound  like  blowin'  a  fish  horn,  and 
before  she's  half  through  the  first  verse  Rusty  has 
joined  in. 

"  Come  on ! "  says  he,  as  they  strikes  the  chorus. 
"Everybody!" 

Say,  the  doc.  was  right  there  with  the  goods.  He 
roars  her  out  like  a  good  one;  and  the  student 

323 


SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 

chap  wa'n't  far  behind,  either.     You  know  how  it 
goes — 

John,  he  took  me  round  to  see  his  moth-er,  his  moth-er,  his 

moth-er ! 
And  while  he  introduced  us  to  each  oth-er — 

Eh?  Well,  maybe  that  ain't  just  the  way  it  goes; 
but  I  can  think  the  tune  right.  That  was  what  I  was 
up  against  then.  I  knew  I  couldn't  make  my  voice 
behave;  so  all  I  does  is  go  through  the  motions  with 
my  mouth  and  tap  the  time  out  with  my  foot.  But  I 
sure  did  ache  to  jump  in  and  help  Rusty  out. 

It  was  a  great  concert.  She  gives  us  all  them 
classic  things,  like  "  The  Bird  on  Nellie's  Hat,"  "  Wait- 
ing at  the  Church,"  "  No  Wedding  Bells  for  Me,"  and 
so  on;  her  fingers  just  dancin',  and  her  head  noddin' 
to  Rusty,  and  her  eyes  kind  of  encouragin'  him  to  keep 
his  grip. 

Twice,  though,  he  has  to  quit,  as  the  pain  twists 
him;  and  the  last  time,  when  he  flops  back  on  the 
pillows,  we  thought  he'd  passed  in  for  good.  But  in 
a  minute  or  so  he's  up  again'  callin'  for  more.  Say, 
maybe  you  think  Miss  Effie  didn't  have  some  grit  of 
her  own,  to  sit  there  bangin'  out  songs  like  that,  ex- 
pectin'  every  minute  to  see  him  keel  over.  But  she 
stays  with  it,  and  we  was  right  in  the  middle  of  that 
chorus  that  goes — 

324 


THE    CASE    OF   RUSTY   QUINN 

In  old  New  York,  in  old  New  York, 
The  peach  crop's  always  fine — 

when  the  foldin'  doors  was  slid  back,  and  in  comes 
the  big  surgeon  gent  we'd  been  waitin'  for.  You 
should  have  seen  the  look  on  him  too,  as  he  sizes  up 
Aem  three  singin',  and  Rusty  there  on  the  table,  a 
cigarette  twisted  up  in  his  fingers,  fightin'  down  a 
spasm. 

"  What  blasted  idiocy  is  this  ?  "  he  growled. 

"  New  kind  of  pain  killer,  doc.,"  says  I.  "  Tell  you 
all  about  it  later.  What  you  want  to  do  now  is  get 
busy." 

Well,  that's  the  whole  of  it.  He  knew  his  book,  that 
bone  repairer  did.  He  worked  four  hours  steady,  put- 
tin'  back  into  place  the  parts  of  Rusty  that  had  got 
skewgeed ;  but  when  he  rolls  down  his  sleeves  and  quits 
he  leaves  a  man  that's  almost  as  good  as  ever,  barrin' 
a  few  months  to  let  the  pieces  grow  together. 

I  was  out  to  see  Rusty  yesterday,  and  he's  doin'  fine. 
He's  plannin',  when  he  gets  around  again,  to  take  the 
purse  that  was  made  up  for  him  and  invest  it  in  air- 
ship stock. 

"  And  if  ever  I  make  a  million  dollars,  Shorty,"  says 
he,  "  I'm  goin'  to  hand  over  half  of  it  to  that  gent  that 
sewed  me  up." 

"  Good !  "  says  I.  "  And  if  I  was  you  I'd  chuck  the 
other  half  at  the  song  writers." 

325 


B.  M.  Bower's  Novels 

Thrilling  Western  Romances 

Large  12  mos.  Handsomely  bound  in  cloth.      Illustrated 

CHIP,  OF  THE  FLYING  U 

A  breezy  wholesome  tale,  wherein  the  love  affairs  of  Chip  and 
Delia  Whitman  are  charmingly  and  humorously  told.  Chip's 
jealousy  of  Dr.  Cecil  Grantham,  who  turns  out  to  be  a  big.  blue 
eyed  young  woman  is  very  amusing.  A  clever,  realistic  story  of 
the  American  Cow-puncher. 

THE  HAPPY  FAMILY 

A  lively  and  amusing  story,  dealing  with  the  adventures  of 
eighteen  jovial,  big  hearted  Montana  cowboys.     Foremost  amongst 
them,  we  find  Ananias  Green,  known  as  Andy,  whose  imaginative 
powers  cause  many  lively  and  exciting  adventures. 
HER  PRAIRIE  KNIGHT 

A  realistic  story  of  the  plains,  describing  a  gay  party  of  Eas- 
terners who  exchange  a  cottage  at  Newport  for  the  rough  homeli- 
ness of  a  Montana  ranch-house.  The  merry-hearted  cowboys,  the 
fascinating  Beatrice,  and  the  effusive  Sir  Redmond,  become  living, 
breathing  personalities. 
THE  RANGE  DWELLERS 

Here  are  everyday,  genuine  cowboys,  just  as  they  really  exist. 
Spirited  action,  a  range  feud  between  two  families,  and  a  Romeo 
and  Juliet  courtship  make  this  a  bright,  jolly,  entertaining  story, 
without  a  dull  page. 
THE    LURE  OF  DIM  TRAILS 

A  vivid  portrayal  of  the  experience  of  an  Eastern  author, 
among  the  cowboys  of  the  West,  in  search  of  "local  color"  for  a 
new  novel.  "Bud"  Thurston  learns  many  a  lesson  while  following 
"the  lure  of  the  dim  trails' '  but  the  hardest,  and  probably  the  most 
welcome,  is  that  of  love. 
THE  LONESOME  TRAIL 

"Weary"  Davidson  leaves  the  ranch  for  Portland,  where  con- 
ventional city  life  palls  on  him.  A  little  branch  of  sage  brush, 
pungent  with  the  atmosphere  of  the  prairie,  and  the  recollection  of 
a  pair  of  large  brown  eyes  soon  compel  his  return.  A  wholesome 
love  story, 
THE  LONG  SHADOW 

A  vigorous  Western  story,  sparkling  with'  the  free,  outdoor, 
life  of  a  mountain  ranch.  Its  scenes  shift  rapidly  and  its  actors  play 
the  game  of  life  fearlessly  and  like  men.  It  is  a  fine  love  story  from 
start  to  finish. 

A*k  for  a  complete  free  list  of  G.  &  D.  Popular  Copyrighted  Fiction. 

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THE     SECOND     WIFE.    By  Thompson  Buchanan.  Illustrated 
by  W.  W.  Fawcett.    Harrison  Fisher  wrapper  printed  in  four 
colors  and  gold. 

An  intensely  interesting  story  of  a  marital  complication  in 
a  wealthy  New  York  family  involving  the  happiness  of  a 
beautiful  young  girl. 

TESS  OF  THE  STORM  COUNTRY.    By  Grace  Miller  White. 
Illustrated  by  Howard  Chandler  Christy. 

An  amazingly  vivid  picture  of  low  class  life  in  a  New 
York  college  town,  with  a  heroine  beautiful  and  noble,  who  makes 
a  great  sacrifice  for  love. 

FROM  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  MISSING.    By  Grace  Miller 
White. 
Frontispiece  and  wrapper  in  colors  by  Penrhyn  Stanlaws. 

Another  story  of  "the  storm  country."  Two  beautiful  chil- 
dren are  kidnapped  from  a  wealthy  home  and  appear  many  years 
after  showing  the  effects  of  a  deep,  malicious  scheme  behind 
their  disappearance. 

THE    LIGHTED    MATCH.     By  Charles  Neville  Buck.    Illus- 
trated by  R.  F.  Schabelitz. 

A  lovely  princess  travels  incognito  through  the  States  and 
falls  in  love  with  an  American  man.  There  are  ties  that  bind  her 
to  someone  in  her  own  home,  and  the  great  plot  revolves  round 
her  efforts  to  work  her  way  out. 

MAUD    BAXTER.    By  C.    C.    Hotchkiss.    Illustrated  by  Will 
Grefe. 

A  romance  both  daring  and  delightful,  involving  an  Amer- 
ican girl  and  a  young  man  who  had  been  impressed  into  English 
service  during  the  Revolution. 

THE    HIGHWAYMAN.    By   Guy    Rawlence.     Illustrated   by 
Will  Grefe. 

A  French  beauty  of  mysterious  antecedents  wins  the  love 
Df  an  Englishman  of  title.  Developments  of  a  startling  character 
and  a  clever  untangling  of  affairs  hold  the  reader's  iuterest. 

THE    PURPLE    STOCKINGS.     By  Edward  Salisbury    Field. 
Illustrated  in  colors;  marginal  illustrations. 

A  young  New  York  business  man,  his  pretty  sweetheart, 
his  sentimental  stenographer,  and  his  fashionable  sister  are  all 
mixed  up  in  a  misunderstanding  that  surpasses  anything  in  the 
way  of  comedy  in  years.  A  story  with  a  laugh  on  every  page. 

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TITLES    SELECTED    FROM 

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May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.      Ask  for  Grosset  &  Dunlap's  list 

THE  SIEGE  OF  THE  SEVEN  SUITORS.    By  Meredith  Nich- 
olson.    Illustrated  by  C.  Coles  Phillips  and  Reginald  Birch. 

Seven  suitors  vie  with  each  other  for  the  love  of  a  beautiful 
girl,  and  she  subjects  them  to  a  test  that  is  fnll  of  mystery,  magic 
and  sheer  amusement. 

THE  MAGNET.    By  Henry  C.  Rowland.    Illustrated  by  Clarence 
F.  Underwood. 

The  story  of  a  remarkable  courtship  involving  three  pretty 
girls  on  a  yacht,  a  poet-lover  in  pursuit,  and  a  mix-up  in  the  names 
of  the  girls. 

THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD.  By  Eugenia  Brooks  Frothingham. 
A  beautiful  young  opera  singer  chooses  professional  success 
instead  of  love,  but  comes  to  a  place  in  life  where  the  call  of  the 
heart  is  stronger  than  worldly  success. 

SCOTTIE  AND  HIS  LADY.     By  Margaret  Morse.    Illustrated 

by  Harold  M.  Brett. 

A  young  girl  whose  affections  have  been  blighted  is  presented 
with  a  Scotch  Collie  to  divert  her  mind,  and  the  roving  adventures 
of  her  pet  lead  the  young  mistress  into  another  romance. 

SHEILA  VEDDER.    By  Amelia  E.  Barr.    Frontispiece  by  Harri- 
son Fisher. 

A  very  beautiful  romance  of  the  Shetland  Islands,  with  a 
handsome,  strong  willed  hero  and  a  lovely  girl  of  Gaelic  blood  as 
heroine.  A  sequel  to  ''Jan  Vedder's  Wife." 

JOHN  WARD.  PREACHER.    By  Margaret  Deland. 

The  first  big  success  of  this  much  loved  American  novelist. 
It  is  a  powerful  portrayal  of  a  young  clergyman's  attempt  to  win  his 
beautiful  wife  to  his  own  narrow  creed. 

THE    TRAIL  OF    NINETY-EIGHT.    By  Robert  W.  Service. 

~~  Illustrated  by  Maynard  Dixon. 

One  of  the  best  stories  of  "Vapa^ondia  "  ever  written,  and' 
one  of  the  most  accurate  and  picturesque  of  the  stampede  of  gold 
seekers  to  the  Yukon.  The  love  story  embedded  in  the  narrative 
is  strikingly  original, 

Ask  for  compete  free  list  of   G.  &  D.    Popular  Copyrighted  Fiction 

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May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.       Ask  for  Grosset  &  Dunlap's  list. 

HIS   HOUR.    By  Elinor  Glyn.    Illustrated. 

A  beautiful  blonde  Englishwoman  visits  Russia,  and  is  vio- 
lently made  love  to  by  a  young  Russian  aristocrat.  A  most  unique 
situation  complicates  the  romance. 

THE    GAMBLERS.      By  Charles  Klein  and  Arthur  Hornblow. 
Illustrated  by  C.  E.  Chambers. 

A  big,  vital  treatment  of  a  present  day  situation  wherein  men 
play  for  big  financial  stakes  and  women  flourish  on  the  profits — or 
repudiate  the  methods. 

CHEERFUL  AMERICANS.    By  Charles  Battell  Loomis.    Illus- 
trated by  Florence  Scovel  Shinn  and  others. 

A  good,  wholesome,  laughable  presentation  of  some  Americans 
at  home  and  abroad,  on  their  vacations,  and  during  their  hours  of 
relaxation. 

THE  WOMAN  OF  THE  WORLD.    By  Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox. 

Clever,  original  presentations  of  present  day  social  problems 
and  the  best  solutions  of  them.  A  book  every  girl  and  woman 
should  possess. 

THE    LIGHT  THAT   LURES.    By  Percy  Brebner. 
Illustrated.     Handsomely  colored  wrapper. 

A  young  Southerner  who  loved  Lafayette,  goes  to  France  to 
aid  him  during  the  days  of  terror,  and  is  lured  in  a  certain  direction 
by  the  lovely  eyes  of  a  Frenchwoman. 

THE  RAMRODDERS.        By  Holman   Day.       Frontispiece  by 
Harold  Matthews  Brett. 

A  clever,  timely  story  that  will  make  politicians  think  and  will 
make  women  realize  the  part  that  politics  play— even  in  their 
romances. 

Afi  for  complete  free  list  of  G.  &  D.  Popular  Copyrighted.  Fiction 

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TITLES   SELECTED   FROM 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAPS  LIST 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.      Ask  for  Grosset  &  Dunlap's  list 

THE  SILENT  CALL.    By    Edwin    Milton   Royle.     Illustrated 
with  scenes  from  the  play. 

The  hero  of  this  story  is  the  Squaw  Man's  son.  He  has 
been  taken  to  England,  but  spurns  conventional  life  for  the  sake 
of  the  untamed  West  and  a  girl's  pretty  face. 

JOHN  MARCH,    SOUTHERNER.    By  George  W.  Cable. 

A  story  of  the  pretty  women  and  spirited  men  of  the  South. 
As  fragrant  in  sentiment  as  a  sprig  of  magnolia,  and  as  full  of 
mystery  and  racial  troubles  as  any  romance  of  "after  the  war" 
days. 

MR.  JUSTICE  RAFFLES.    By  E.  W.  Hornung. 

This  engaging  rascal  is  found  helping  a  young  cricket  player 
out  of  the  toils  of  a  money  shark.  Novel  in  plot,  thrilling  and 
amusing. 

FORTY  MINUTES  LATE.  By  F.  Hopkinson  Smith.  Illustrated 
by  S.  M.  Chase. 

Delightfully  human  stories  of  every  day  happenings;  of  a 
lecturer's  laughable  experience  because  he  s  late,  a  young  woman's 
excursion  into  the  stock  market,  etc. 

OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31.    By  Louise  Forsslund. 

A  heart-warming  story  of  American  rural  life,  telling  of  the 
adventures  of  an  old  couple  in  an  old  folk's  home,  their  sunny, 
philosophical  acceptance  of  misfortune  and  ultimate  prosperity. 

THE  HUSBAND'S  STORY.    By  David  Graham  Phillips. 

A  story  that  has  given  all  Europe  as  well  as  all  America  much 
food  for  thought.  A  young  couple  begin  life  in  humble  circum- 
stances and  rise  in  worldly  matters  until  the  husband  is  enormously 
rich— the  wife  in  the  most  aristocratic  European  society— but  at  the 
price  of  their  happiness. 

THE  TRAIL  OF  NINETY- EIGHT.      By  Robert  W.  Service. 
Illustrated  by  Maynard  Dixon. 

One  of  the  best  stories  of  "Vagabondia"  ever  written,  and 
one  of  the  most  accurate  and  picturesque  descriptions  of  the  stam- 
pede of  gold  seekers  to  the  Yukon.  The  love  story  embedded  in 
the  narrative  is  strikingly  original. 

Ask  for  compete  free  list  of  G.  &  D.  Popular  Copyrighted  Fiction 

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KATE  DOUGLAS  WIGGIN'S 
STORIES   OF  PURE   DELIGHT 

Full   of   originality   and    humor,    kindliness   and  cheer 

THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW.  Large  Octavo.  Decorative 
text  pages,  printed  in  two  colors.  Illustrations  by  Alice 
Barber  Stephens. 

One  of  the  prettiest  romances  that  has  ever  come  from  this 
author's  pen  is  made  to  bloom  on  Christmas  Eve  in  the  sweet 
freshness  of  an  old  New  England  meeting  house. 

PENELOPE'S  PROGRESS.  Attractive  cover  design  in 
colors. 

Scotland  is  the  background  for  the  merry  doings  of  three  very 
clever  and  original  American  girls.  Their  adventures  in  adjusting 
themselves  to  the  Scot  and  his  land  are  full  of  humor. 

PENELOPE'S  IRISH  EXPERIENCES.  Uniform  in  style 
with  "Penelope's  Progress." 


The  trio  of  clever  girls  who  rambled  over  Scotland  cross  the  bor- 
der to  the  Emerald  Isle,  and  again  they  sharpen  their  wits  against 
new  conditions,  and  revel  in  the  land  of  laughter  and  wit. 

REBECCA  OF  SUNNYBROOK  FARM. 

One  of  the  most  beautiful  studies  of  childhood — Rebecca's  artis- 
tic, unusual  and  quaintly  charming  qualities  stand  cut  midst  a  circle 
of  austere  New  Englanders.  The  stage  version  is  making  a  phe- 
nomenal dramatic  record. 

NEW  CHRONICLES  OF  REBECCA.  With  illustrations 
by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

ame   more   quaint 
>ugh  various  stage 

ROSE    O'  THE  RIVER.     With  illustrations  by   George 
Wright. 

The  simple  story  of  Rose,  a  country  girl  and  Stephen  a  sturdy 
young  farmer,  The  girl's  fancy  for  a  city  man  interrupts  their  love 
and  merges  the  story  into  an  emotional  strain  where  the  reader  fol- 
lows the  events  with  rapt  attention. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


Some   more   quaintly  amusing  chronicles  that    carry  Rebecca 
chrough  various  stages  to  her  eighteenth  birthday. 


TITLES    SELECTED   FROM 

GROSSET    &    DUNLAP'S    LIST 

REALISTIC.  ENGAGING  PICTURES  OF  LIFE 

THE  GARDEN  OF  FATE.  By  Roy  Norton.  Illustrated 

by  Joseph  Clement  Coll. 

The  colorful  romance  of  an  American  girl  in  Morocco,  and 
of  a  beautiful  garden,  whose  beauty  and  traditions  of  strange 
subtle  happenings  were  closed  to  the  world  by  a  Sultan's  seal. 

THE  MAN  HIGHER  UP.     By  Henry  Russell  Miller. 

Full  page  vignette  illustrations  by  M.  Leone  Bracker. 

The  story  of  a  tenement  waif  who  rose  by  his  own  ingenuity 

to  the  office  of  mayor  of  his  native  city.     His  experiences 

while  "climbing,"  make  a  most  interesting  example  of  the 

possibilities  of  human  nature  to  rise  above  circumstances. 

THE  KEY  TO  YESTERDAY.      By  Charles  Neville 

Buck.     Illustrated  by  R.  Schabelitz. 

Robert  Saxon,  a  prominent  artist,  has  an  accident,  while  in 

Paris,  which  obliterates  his  memory,  and  the  only  clue  he  has 

to  his  former  life  is  a  rusty  key.     What  door  in  Paris  will  it 

unlock  ?     He  must  know  that  before  he  woos  the  girl  he  loves. 

THE  DANGER  TRAIL.     By  James  Oliver  Curwood. 

Illustrated  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 
The  danger  trail  is  over  the  snow-smothered  North.     A 
young  Chicago  engineer,  who  is  building  a  road  through  the 
Hudson  Bay  region,  is  involved  in  mystery,  and  is  led  into 
ambush  by  a  young  woman. 

THE  GAY  LORD  WARING.    By  Houghton  Townley. 

Illustrated  by  Will  Grefe. 

A  story  of  the  smart  hunting  set  in  England.  A  gay  young 
ord  wins  in  love  against  his  selfish  and  cowardly  brother  and 
apparently  against  fate  itself. 

BY  INHERITANCE.     By  Octave  Thanet.     Illustrated 

by  Thomas  Fogarty.     Elaborate  wrapper  in  colors. 

A  wealthy  New  England  spinster  with  the  most  elaborate 

plans  for  the  education  of  the  negro  goes  to  visit  her  nephew 

m  Arkansas,  where  she  learns  the  needs  of  the  col<  red  race 

first  hand  and  begins  to  lose  her  theories. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  V/EST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


A  FEW  OF 

GROSSET  &   DUNLAP'S 
Great  Books  at  Little  Prices 

NEW,  CLEVER.  ENTERTAINING, 

GRET :    The  Story  of  a  Pagan.    By  Beatrice  Mantle.    Illustrated 

by  C.  M.  Relyea. 

The  wild  free  life  of  an  Oregon  lumber  camp  furnishes  the  setting  for  this 
strong  original  story.  Gret  is  the  daughter  of  the  camp  and  is  utterly  con- 
tent with  the  wild  life— until  love  comes.  A  fine  book,  unmarred  by  con- 
vention. 

OLD  CHESTER  TALES.  By  Margaret  Deland.  Illustrated 
by  Howard  Pyle. 

A  vivid  yet  delicate  portrayal  of  characters  in  an  old  New  England  town. 

Dr.  Lavendar's  fine,  kindly  wisdom  is  brought  to  bear  upon  the  lives  of 
all,  permeating  the  whole  volume  like  the  pungent  odor  of  pine,  healthful 
and  life  giving.  "  Old  Chester  Tales  "  will  surely  be  among  the  books  that 
abide. 

THE  MEMOIRS  OF  A  BABY.  By  Josephine  Daskam.  Illus- 
trated by  F.  Y.  Cory. 

The  dawning  intelligence  of  the  baby  was  grappled  with  by  its  great  aunt, 
an  elderly  maiden,  whose  book  knowledge  ofbabies  was  something  at  which 
even  the  infant  himself  winked.  A  delicious  bit  of  humor. 

REBECCA  MARY.      By  Annie  Hamilton  Donnell.     Illustrated 

by  Elizabeth  Shippen  Green. 

Tke  heart  tragedies  of  this  little  girl  with  no  one  near  to  share  them,  ara 
told  with  a  delicate  art,  a  keen  appreciation  of  the  needs  of  the  childish 
heart  and  a  humorous  knowledge  of  the  workings  of  the  childish  mind. 

THE  FLY  ON  THE  WHEEL.  By  Katherine  Cecil  Thurston, 
Frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

An  Irish  story  of  real  power,  perfect  in  development  and  showing  a  trua 
conception  of  the  spirited  Hibernian  character  as  displayed  in  the  tragic  as 
well  as  the  tender  phases  of  life. 

THE  MAN  FROM  BRODNEY'S.  By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 
Illustrated  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

An  island  in  the  South  Sea  is  the  setting  for  this  entertaining  tale,  and 
an  all-conquering  hero  and  a  beautiful  princess  figure  in  a  most  complicated 
plot.  One  of  Mr.  McCutcheon's  best  books. 

TOLD  BY  UNCLE  REMUS.  By  Joel  Chandler  Harris.  Illus- 
trated by  A.  B.  Frost,  J.  M.  Conde  and  Frank  Verbeck. 

Again  Uncle  Remus  enters  the  fields  of  childhood,  and  leads  another 
little  boy  to  that  non-locatable  land  called  "  Brer   Rabbit's   Laughing 
Place,"  and  again  the  quaint  animals  spring  into  active  life  and  play  their 
parts,  for  the  edification  of  a  small  but  appreciative  audience. 
THE  CLIMBER.    By  E.  F.  Benson.     With  frontispiece. 

An  unsparing  analysis  of  an  ambitious  woman's  soul— a  woman  who 
believed  that  in  social  supremacy  she  would  find  happiness,  and  who  finds 
instead  the  utter  despair  of  one  who  has  chosen  the  things  that  pass  away. 

SYNCH'S  DAUGHTER.    By  Leonard  Merrick.    Illustrated  by 

Geo.  Brehm.  > 

A  story  of  to-day,  telling  how  a  rich  girl  acquires  ideals  of  beautiful  and 
simple  living,  and  of  men  and  love,  quite  apart  from  the  teachings  of  her 
father,  "  Old  Man  Lynch  ";of;Wall  St.  True  to  life,  clever  in  treatment. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


A  Few  that  are  Making  Theatrical  History 

•  —  .  _  .  _LJL 

MARY  JANE'S  PA.    By  Norman  Way.    Illustrated  with  scenes 

from  the  play. 

Delightful,  irresponsible  "  Mary  Jane's  Pa"  awakes  one  morning  to  find 
«mself  famous,  and,  genius  being  ill  adapted  to  domestic  joys,  he  wanders 
Tom  home  to  work  out  his  own  unique  destiny.  One  of  the  most  humorou* 
tits  of  recent  fiction. 

CHERUB  DEVINE.    By  Sewell  Ford. 

"  Cherub,"  a  good  hearted  but  not  over  refined  young  man  Is  brought  In 
touch  with  the  aristocracy.  Of  sprightly  wit,  he  is  sometimes  a  merciless 
analyst,  but  he  proves  in  the  end  that  manhood  counts  for  more  than  anci- 
ent lineage  by  winning  the  love  of  the  fairest  girl  in  the  flock. 

4&  WOMAN'S  WAY.     By  Charles  Somerville.    Illustrated  with 

scenes  from  the  play. 

A  story  in  which  a  woman's  wH  and  self-sacrificing  love  save  her  husband 
from  the  toils  of  an  adventuress,  and  change  an  apparently  tragic  situation 
into  one  of  delicious  comedy. 

THE  CLIMAX.    By  George  C.  Jenks. 

With  ambition  luring  her  on,  a  young  choir  soprano  leaves  the  little  village 
•where  s'he  was  born  and  the  limited  audience  of  St.  Jude's  to  train  for  the 
opera  in  New  York.  She  leaves  love  behind  her  and  meets  love  more  ardent 
but  not  more  sincere  in  her  new  environment.  How  she  works,  how  she 
studies,  how  she  suffers,  are  vividly  portrayed. 


A  FOOL  THERE  WAS.     By  Porter  Emerson  Browne. 

trated  by  Edmund  Magrath  and  W.  W.  Fawcett. 
A  relentless  portrayal  of  the  career  of  a  man  who  comes  under  the  Influence 
of  a  beautiful  but  evil  woman:  how  she  lures  him  on  and  on,  how  he 
struggles,  falls  and  rises,  only  to  fall  again  into  her  net,  make  a  story  of 
unflinching  realism. 

THE  SQUAW   MAN.     By  Julie  Opp  Faversham  and  Edwin 

Milton  Royle.    Illustrated  with  scenes  from  the  play. 
A  glowing  story,  rapid  in  action,  brigl    in  dialogue  with  a  fine  conrageoof 
tero  and  a  beautiful  English  heroine. 

CHE  GIRL  IN  WAITING.     By  Archibald  Eyre     Illustrateo- 

with  scenes  from  the  play. 

A  droll  little  comedy  of  misunderstandings,  told  with  a  light  touch.  &  TCP 
•msome  spirit  and  an  eye  for  human  oddities 

THE   SCARLET   PIMPERNEL.     By  Baroness  Orczy,     Din* 

trated  with  scenes  from  the  play. 

A  realistic  story  of  the  days  of  the  French  Revolution,  abounding  in 
jjframatic  incident,  with  a  young  English  soldier  of  fortune,  daring,  myster> 
saa  as  the  hero, 

(BaossET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YOM 

saa 


A  FEW  OF 

GROSSET  &   DUNLAP'S 
Great  Books  at  Little  Prices 

CY  WHITTAKER'S  PLACE.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Illustrated  by  Wallace  Morgan. 

A  Cape  Cod  story  describing  the  amusing  efforts  of  an  el- 
ierly  bachelor  and  his  two  cronies  to  rear  and  educate  a  little 
girl.  Full  of  honest  fun — a  rural  drama. 

THE  FORGE  IN  THE  FOREST.    By  Charles  G.  D. 
Roberts.     Illustrated  by  H.  Sandham. 

A  story  of  the  conflict  in  Acadia  after  its  conquest  by  the 
British.  A  dramatic  picture  that  lives  and  shines  with  the  in- 
definable charm  of  poetic  romance. 

A  SISTER  TO  EVANGELINE.      By   Charles  G.  D. 
Roberts.    Illustrated  by  E.  McConnell. 

Being  the  story  of  Yvonne  de  Lamourie,  and  how  she  went 
into  exile  with  the  villagers  of  Grand  Pre.  Swift  action, 
fresh  atmosphere,  wholesome  purity,  deep  passion  and  search- 
ing analysis  characterize  this  strong  novel. 
THE  OPENED  SHUTTERS.  By  Clara  Louise  Burn- 
ham.  Frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

A  summer  haunt  on  an  island  in  Casco  Bay  is  the  back- 
ground for  this  romance.  A  beautiful  woman,  at  discord  with 
iife,  is  brought  to  realize,  by  her  new  friends,  that  she  may 
open  the  shutters  of  her  soul  to  the  blessed  sunlight  of  joy  by 
casting  aside  vanity  and  self  love.  A  delicately  humorous 
work  with  a  lofty  motive  underlying  it  all. 
THE  RIGHT  PRINCESS.  By  Clara  Louise  Burnham, 

An  amusing  story,  opening  at  a  fashionable  Long  Island  re- 
»ort,  where  a  stately  Englishwoman  employs  a  forcible  New 
'England  housekeeper  to  serve  in  her  interesting  home.  How 
types  so  widely  apart  react  on  each  others'  lives,  all  to  ulti- 
mate good,  makes  a  story  both  humorous  and  rich  in  sentiment 

THE  LEAVEN  OF  LOVE.    By  Clara  Louise   Burn- 
ham.    Frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher. 
At  a  Southern  California  resort  a  world-weary  woman,  young 
and  beautiful  but  disillusioned,  meets  a  girl  who  has  learned 
the  art  of  living — of  tasting  life  in  all  its  richness,  opulence  and 
joy.    The  story  hinges  upon  the  change  wrought  in  the  soul 
of  the  blas£  woman  by  this  glimpse  into  a  cheery  life. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


UCSB 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONW 


231    9 


4      S\  ,'»    •)   O 

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